THE  GIFT  OF 

MAY  TREAT  MORRISON 

IN  MEMORY  OF 

ALEXANDER  F  MORRISON 


»    »  J  3        3  3  t 


WILLIAM 

SHAKESPEARE 

PORTRAYED    BY    HIMSELF: 


■ 


REVELATION  OF  THE  POET 

IN  THE  CAREER    AND    CHARACTER    OF  ONE 
OF   HIS   OWN    DRAMATIC   HEROES. 


By  ROBERT  WATERS, 

M 

AUTHOR   OF   A   "LIFE   OF    WILLIAM    COBBETT,"  ETC. 


"  Sadly  I  survive, 
To  mock  the  expectation  of  the  world, 
To  frustrate  prophecies,  and  to  raze  out 
Rotten  opinion,  who  hath  writ  me  down 
After  my  seeming." 


NEW  YORK: 
WORTHING TON     COMPANY, 

747  Broadway. 


c  c      c        < 


<  \    • 

'  '       ' 




COPYRIGHT,    1888,    BY 

ROBERT      WATERS 

A II  righ  ts  reserved. 


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CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

The  universal  interest  in  the  personality 
of  the  Poet — what  the  writer  intends 

TO  SHOW,  .  .  .  I 

g  CHAPTER    II. 

QC  IHE  ARGUMENT  STATED — THE  HISTORICAL  DATA 

2  OF  THE  PLAY,  .....  6 

<  CHAPTER    III. 

c/> 

2  Fill     ARGUMENT    CONTINUED    AND     FORTIFIED — 

O  HOW  GENIUS  GETS  AN  EDUCATION,  .  .       16 

t 

«  CHAPTER    IV. 

The  Prince  and  the  Poet  compared,  .         35 

CHAPTER    V. 
Another    view  of  the  Poet  in  the  Prince,        51 

434073 


ij  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   VI. 

"  Look  here  upon  this  picture,  and  then 

ON  THIS  !  "  .  .  .  .  ,  .67 

CHAPTER   VII. 

The  merry  meeting — the  deer-stealing  ad- 
venture,       ......         73 

CHAPTER    VIII. 

"  Turning  past  evils  to  advantages,"    .         .  103 

CHAPTER    IX. 

The  incidents  of    Shakespeare's  life — his 

conversation — his  works,    .         .         .       122 

CHAPTER    X. 

The  known  traits   of   the  Poet  compared 

with  those  of  the  Prince,       .         .         .140 

CHAPTER   XI. 

Scene  with  the  chief-justice — the  Prince 
contrasted  with  his  brother  John — 
testimony  of  the  Poet's  contempo- 
raries as  to  his  gentle  character,         .   161 


CONTENTS.  jii 


CHAPTER   XII. 

The  stage  as  a  profession  in  Shakespeare's 
time — the  Poet's  arrival  in  London, 
and  his  first  occupation  and  compan- 
ionship there, 180 

CHAPTER    XIII. 

Shakespeare's  career  in  London— how  his 
conduct  closely  resembles  that  of  the 
Prince,  .194 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

Shakespeare's  learning — his  experience  in 

foreign  travel,  ....        207 

CHAPTER    XV. 

Contemporary  references  to  Shakespeare 

— his  home-life,        .         .         .         .  225 

CHAPTER  'XVI. 

The  sources   of   the    play — the    Poet  and 

the  King, 244 

CHAPTER    XVII. 
Mr.  Donnelly  and  his  Cryptogram,      .         .  262 


IV  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   XVIII. 
The  Cipher — its  fallacy  plainly  shown,        278 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

Some   important    considerations    touching 
the  Baconian  theory,         .         .         .        301 

CHAPTER    XX. 
Ben  Jonson,  Bacon,  and  Shakespeare,         .  316 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
Conclusion, 325 

Index, 339 


*    >  ' 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

Portrayed  by  Himself. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  UNIVERSAL  INTEREST    IN    THE    PERSON- 
ALITY OF  THE  POET WHAT  THE  WRITER 

INTENDS  TO  SHOW. 

IT  is  said  that  ten  thousand  different 
essays,  pamphlets  and  books  have 
been  printed  and  published  concerning 
the  life  and  writings  of  William  Shake- 
speare.  This  is  something  unparalleled 
in  the  history  of  literature.  No  other 
name  among  men  of  letters  has  created 
such  an  interest.  What  an  amazing  at- 
traction, what  a  boundless  fascination, 
must  people  find  in  the  life  and  char- 
acter of  this  man  !  Men  of  every  nation, 
of  every  rank,  are  captivated  by  him. 
All  the  world  wish  to  know  the  ante- 
lents,  the  family,  the  training,  of  the 

i 


t       <    < 


•*  :  ••*  *  *g ■    ::..:.•«  william  Shakespeare. 

man  who  produced  the  most  superb 
dramas  in  literature — whence  he  derived 
that  marvellous  power  of  dramatic  presen- 
tation, that  wonderful  skill,  knowledge, 
and  wisdom,  as  poet,  philosopher,  and 
dramatist,  which  he  displays  in  all  his 
works.  All  men  are  amazed  at  the  cir- 
cumstance, that  a  man  of  the  people,  of 
no  particular  education,  of  no  remarkable 
lineage,  should  have  surpassed  all  other 
men  in  intellectual  power,  in  the  richness 
and  greatness  of  his  productions  ; — all 
men,  I  say,  except  a  few  erratic  individ- 
uals in  recent  years,  whose  extraordinary 
views  are  not  supported  by  any  foun- 
dation worth  a  moment's  consideration. 
People  of  foreign  nations  are  so  much 
interested  in  him,  that  they  learn  English 
merely  to  read  his  works  in  the  original  ; 
and  there  is  hardly  a  language  capable  of 
literary  expression  into  which  these  works 
have  not  been  again  and  again  translated. 
He  is  called  the  father  of  German  litera- 
ture, and  even  at  the  present  day  is  more 
read  and  studied  in  Germany  than  any 
native  author.     His  birthplace,  now   the 


PORTRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  3 

property  of  the  English  nation,  has  be- 
come a  Mecca  to  which  pilgrims  from  the 
four  corners  of  the  world  resort  ;  the  re- 
lation and  explanation  of  the  events  of 
his  life  form  one  of  the  great  problems 
of  modern  times ;  and  societies  for  the 
study  and  elucidation  of  his  writings 
have  been  organized  in  every  part  of  the 
civilized  world.  He  is  the  glory  of  the 
English-speaking  race,  and  every  mem- 
ber of  that  race,  from  one  end  of  the 
world  to  the  other,  is  more  or  less  indebted 
to  him  for  what  he  is,  for  what  culture 
or  enlightenment  he  possesses,  for  what 
largeness  of  view,  superior  power  of  ex- 
pression, or  increased  social  and  intellec- 
tual advantages,  he  enjoys  ; — indeed,  I 
may  say  that  mankind  is  indebted  to  him 
for  a  richer  and  more  copious  speech,  a 
larger  social  and  intellectual  life,  and  a 
more  abundant  fund  of  rational  amuse- 
ment, than  it  ever  possessed  before. 

Such  is  the  man  whom  I  propose  to 
unveil,  as  delineating  his  own  character 
and  career  in  the  person  of  one  of  his 
dramatic  heroes  ;   such  is  the  man  whose 


4  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

life  I  intend  to  unfold  to  my  readers, 
without  the  aid  of  a  cipher  or  any  remark- 
able hocus-pocus,  in  such  plain  characters 
that  all  the  world  may  read  and  perceive 
its  truth.  When  the  life  and  character 
of  a  literary  man  cannot  be  found  in 
the  records  of  his  friends  and  acquain- 
tances, and  no  personal  memoirs  of  him 
are  extant,  the  only  proper  place  to  look 
for  him  is  in  his  works  ;  and  when  the 
known  incidents  of  his  career,  and  the 
known  traits  of  his  character,  agree  in  a 
remarkable  manner  with  those  of  one, 
and  only  one,  of  his  heroes,  it  is  natural 
to  infer  that  he  delineated  himself  in  that 
hero,  and  that  that  delineation  must 
afford  a  better  view  of  him  than  any 
other  that  can  be  obtained.  I  shall  show 
that  in  the  very  plays  in  which  that 
extraordinary  gentleman,  Mr.  Ignatius 
Donnelly,  has  discovered  a  cipher  show- 
ing that  they  were  written  by  Lord  Ba- 
con, the  real  author,  Shakespeare,  reveals 
himself,  his  life,  his  character,  as  plainly 
and  purposely  as  any  author  ever  reveal- 
ed himself  in  one  of  his  works.     I  shall 


POR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  5 

show  that  the  identity  of  this  character 
with  the  Poet  holds  good  through  three 
different  plays  ;  nay,  through  four  differ- 
ent plays  ;  and  to  the  man  who  wishes  to 
make  some  personal  acquaintance  with 
Shakespeare,  this  presentation  of  him 
will,  I  am  confident,  afford  much  more 
satisfaction,  and  give  a  far  better  view  of 
the  man,  than  any  or  all  of  his  meager 
biographies.  So  sure  am  I  of  this,  that 
I  think  every  lover  of  Shakespeare  will, 
after  reading  this  essay,  not  only  peruse 
the  plays  in  question  with  increased  sat- 
isfaction and  delight,  but  experience  a 
feeling  of  thankfulness  toward  the  writ- 
er  for  having  rescued  our  beloved  Poet 
from  even  a  suspicion  of  foul  play,  and 
for  having  silenced  forever  this  vain  and 
pernicious  babble  about  Bacon's  author- 
ship of  his  plays. 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    ARGUMENT    STATED — THE    HISTORICAL 
DATA    OF    THE    PLAY. 

SOMETIMES  a  truth  is  discovered 
by  long  years  of  labor  and  patient 
study ;  sometimes  by  an  unexpected 
flash  of  thought.  In  the  latter  case,  the 
investigation  and  proof  follow  the  dis- 
covery ;  in  the  former,  they  precede  it. 
I  had  taken  up  Huth's  "  Life  of  Henry 
Thomas  Buckle " — which  is  a  good  ac- 
count of  a  remarkable  man,  for  whose 
character  and  genius  I  entertain  the 
deepest  respect,  and  over  whose  un- 
timely fate  I  have  shed  tears  of  regret — 
and  was  running  over  it  for  the  second 
time,  when  I  came  to  this  passage, 
quoted  to  show  the  wide  scope  and  versa- 
tility of  Buckle's  talents: 

Hear  him  but  reason  in  divinity, 
And,  all-admiring,  with  an  inward  wish 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIM&ELF.  j 

You  would  desire  the  king  were  made  a  prelate  : 

Hear  him  debate  of  commonwealth  affairs, 

You  would  say,  it  hath  been  all-in-all  his  study  : 

List  his  discourse  of  war,  and  you  shall  hear 

A  fearful  battle  rendered  you  in  music  : 

Turn  him  to  any  cause  of  policy, 

The  Gordian  knot  of  it  he  will  unloose, 

Familiar  as  his  garter  ;  that,  when  he  speaks, 

The  air,  a  chartered  libertine,  is  still, 

And  the  mute  wonder  lurketh  in  men's  ears, 

To  steal  his  sweet  and  honey'd  sentences. 

On  reading  this,  I  said  to  myself, 
"  That  can  suit  no  man  except  Shake- 
speare himself:  whence  are  these  lines?" 
On  looking  up  the  passage,  I  found  it 
formed  part  of  the  Archbishop's  descrip- 
tion of  Prince  Henry,  now  become  king, 
in  the  First  Act  of  King  Henry  the  Fifth  ; 
and  I  made  up  my  mind,  from  that  in- 
stant, that  the  character  was  none  other 
than  that  of  Shakespeare  himself.  I 
knew  what  Prince  Henry  was,  and  knew 
something  of  him  as  Henry  the  Fifth  ; 
but  had  not,  till  then,  dreamt  of  him 
as  other  than  an  historical  character. 
Now,  the  more  carefully  I  studied  Shake- 
speare's portraiture   of  him,  the  more   I 


3  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

became  convinced  that  the  character  was 
a  portrait  of  the  Poet  himself;  and  if 
the  reader  will  have  the  patience  to  fol- 
low me  for  a  few  pages,  I  hope  to  con- 
vince him  likewise  of  its  truth. 

From  all  that  we  know  of  Shake- 
speare's early  history,  that  of  Prince 
Henry  corresponds  to  it  very  closely ; 
and  from  all  that  we  know  of  his  later  his- 
tory, the  correspondence  will  be  found  to 
be,  in  a  sense,  equally  close.  The  char- 
acter, companions,  and  habits  of  life  of 
Prince  Henry  were  such  as  are  known  to 
have  been  those  of  the  youthful  Shake- 
speare ;  and  the  character,  companions, 
and  habits  of  his  later  years  were  such 
as  correspond  with  those  of  the  tri- 
umphant and  all-surpassing  English 
Poet.  We  know  that  Shakespeare  was 
a  roysterer  in  his  early  days  ;  that  his 
"  youth  had  wandered  faulty  and  irreg- 
ular "  ;  that  he  loved  good  cheer,  merry 
companions,  and  a  free  and  easy  life  ; 
that  he  was  fond  of  lively  conversation 
and  wit-combats,  and  that  he  excelled  in 
these  ;  that  he  got  into   trouble  in  one, 


FOR  TEA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  g 

at  least,  of  his  escapades  with  these  com- 
panions, and  that,  like  the  Prince,  he  suf- 
fered at  the  hands  of  judicial  authority. 
In  fact,  the  Poet  could  hardly  avoid  per- 
ceiving these  remarkable  coincidences, 
and  could  hardly  avoid  recalling  his  own 
experiences  while  delineating  those  of 
the  Prince.  The  Prince  having  been  such 
a  man  as  he  had  been  in  his  youth  ;  his 
experiences  and  diversions  having  been 
similar  to  his  own  ;  his  companions  and 
adventures  having  been  of  a  like  nature, 
it  was  natural  that  he  should  at  once 
make  up  his  mind  to  delineate  his  own 
character  and  companions,  his  own  life 
and  adventures,  in  those  of  the  Prince. 

Under  these  circumstances,  the  con- 
clusion inevitably  forces  itself  upon  the 
mind,  that  the  Poet,  in  writing  a  play  in 
which  this  character  is  a  leading  per- 
sonage, drew  upon  his  own  experience, 
and  painted  himself  in  this  character. 
As  this  has  been  done  by  so  many 
others,  is  there  anything  more  natural 
than  that  he  too  should,  in  a  work  of  art, 
have  availed   himself  of  this  privilege  ? 


IO  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

and  is  there  anything-  surprising  in  the 
fact,  that  the  characters  he  here  drew 
should  be  among  the  most  life-like,  most 
interesting  and  strongest  ever  drawn  by 
him  ?  Is  there  anything  more  natural 
than  that  one  of  these  characters,  his 
favorite  and  most  strongly  marked  his- 
torical character,  whose  career  he  follows 
through  three  different  plays,  should  be 
nothing  more,  in  disposition,  manner, 
and  conversation,  than  a  delineation  of 
his  own  ? 

Holinshed,  Shakespeare's  great  author- 
ity, from  whom  he  derives  the  main 
events  in  Prince  Henry's  career,  thus  de- 
scribes the  Prince  :  ''  Indeed,  he  was 
youthfully  given,  grown  to  audacity ; 
and  had  chosen  him  companions,  with 
whom  he  spent  the  time  in  such  recrea- 
tions and  delights  as  he  fancied.  Yet  it 
would  seem,  by  the  report  of  some 
writers,  that  his  behavior  was  not  offen- 
sive, or  at  least  tending  to  the  damage  of 
anybody  ;  since  he  had  a  care  to  avoid 
doing  of  wrong  and  to  tender  his  affec- 
tions within  the  tract  of  virtue,  whereby 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  \  T 

he  opened  unto  himself  a  ready  passage 
of  good  liking  among  the  prudent  sort, 
and  was  beloved  of  such  as  could  dis- 
cern his  disposition."  And  elsewhere  the 
same  chronicler  says  :  "  This  king,  even 
at  first  appointing  with  himself  to  show 
that  princely  honors  should  change 
public  manners,  determined  to  put  on 
him  the  shape  of  a  new  man.  For  where- 
as aforetime  he  had  made  himself  a  com- 
panion unto  misruly  mates  of  dissolute 
order  and  life,  he  now  banished  them  all 
from  his  presence  ;  and  in  their  places 
chose  men  of  gravity,  wit,  and  high  pol- 
icy, by  whose  wise  counsel  he  might  at 
all  times  rule  to  his  honor  and  dignity." 
And  old  Caxton  speaks  of  him  as  "  a 
noble  prince  after  he  was  king  and 
crowned  ;  howbeit,  in  his  youth  he  had 
been  wild,  reckless,  and  spared  noth- 
ing   of   his    lusts    and    desires." 

Human  nature  is  the  same  in  prince 
and  peasant ;  men  and  women  are  all 
moved  by  the  same  passions  and  desires, 
no  matter  what  their  rank  or  station  ; 
and  Shakespeare  saw  in  this  prince  a  man 


I2  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

with  whom  he  had  much  in  common, 
with  whose  erring  youth  and  misruly 
mates  he  had  large  sympathy  from  simi- 
larity of  experience,  and  for  whose  sub- 
sequent reformation  and  heroic  career  he 
had  warm  and  enthusiastic  admiration. 
The  Prince  was  an  Englishman,  his 
countryman,  a  man  who  had  shed  luster 
on  the  name  and  history  of  his  country ; 
a  man  who  lived  at  a  time  not  so  very 
remote  from  his  own  but  that  he  could 
readily  transport  himself  into  it ;  and  he 
saw  in  his  career  and  character  his  own 
reflected  as  in  2c  glass,  his  youth  recalled 
as  by  a  wonderful  coincidence  ;  and  he  de- 
termined to  display  it  on  the  stage.  Like 
the  Prince,  he  had  in  his  youth  been  led 
into  wild  and  irregular  courses  ;  yet  "  his 
behavior  had  not  been  offensive,  nor 
tending  to  the  damage  of  anybody,"  and 
doubtless  he  took  care  "  to  avoid  doing 
of  wrone,  and  to  tender  his  affections 
within  the  tract  of  virtue,  whereby  he 
would  open  unto  himself  a  ready  passage 
of  good  liking  among  the  prudent  sort, 
and  be  beloved  of  such   as  could  discern 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  T  ^ 

his  disposition."  He  therefore  naturally- 
felt  drawn  toward  a  man  who  had  under- 
gone the  same  ordeal  as  he  had,  incurred 
the  same  obloquy,  experienced  the  same 
"durance  vile"  for  defiance  of  authority, 
and  finally  emerged  unscathed  into  a 
nobler  and  higher  sphere  of  life,  shedding 
luster  on  his  country  and  glorifying  the 
English  name.  Undoubtedly  it  was  of 
himself  and  his  own  youth  that  he 
thought  when  he  caused  the  Prince's 
father  to  say  : 

Most  subject  is  the  fattest  soil  to  weeds, 
And  he,  the  noble  image  of  my  youth, 
Is  overspread  with  them. 

Shakespeare,  therefore,  was  conscious 
of  the  fact,  that  he  needed  but  to  draw 
upon  his  own  life  and  experience  to  give 
a  perfect  picture  of  the  man  whom  he  re- 
sembled ;  and  it  was  consequently  a  labor 
of  love  for  him 

to  tell  the  world, 
England  did  never  owe  so  sweet  a  hope, 
So  much  misconstrued  in  his  wantonness. 

For  the  Poet  was,  you  may  be  sure,  even 


14 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


in  youth,  a  prince  among  his  fellows,  the 
first  and  foremost  among  the  associates 
of  his  youth  as  among  those  of  his  man- 
hood. Let  the  reader,  familiar  with 
Shakespeare,  call  to  mind  his  impression 
of  the  character  of  Prince  Henry,  as  de- 
lineated in  the  First  and  the  Second  Part 
of  Henry  IV. ;  let  him  think  of  him  as  he 
showed  himself  in  his  wit-combats  with 
FalstafT;  in  his  thoughtful  yet  sarcastic 
encounters  with  Poins  ;  in  his  kindly 
demeanor  toward  Mrs.  Quickly  and  her 
"loggerheads  "  ;  in  his  good-natured  and 
fun-loving  pranks  with  the  tapster  Fran- 
cis ;  in  his  ready  appreciation  and  kindly 
recognition  of  Falstaff's  witty  page  ;  in 
his  noble  behavior  toward  his  father  and 
his  brothers,  and  in  his  generous  conduct 
over  the  defeated  and  dying  Hotspur  ; — 
let  him  remember  the  vein  of  philosophy 
and  deep  thinking  that  runs  through  all 
his  talk,  notwithstanding  its  looseness, 
and  his  eloquent  and  poetic  utterances  in 
his  interviews  with  his  father ;  let  him 
call  to  mind  his  familiarity  with  the  com- 
mon people,  with  Tom,  Dick  and  Francis, 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  i  5 

and  his  ability  to  "drink  with  any  tinker 
in  his  own  language  during  his  life  "  ;  his 
love  of  punning  and  witticisms,  his  quips, 
cranks,  and  quiddities  ; — let  him  recall 
all  these  things,  and  he  cannot  fail 
to  perceive  that  this  character  is  such 
as  he  and  all  the  world  have  ever  asso- 
ciated with  that  of  the  gentle,  wise  and 
large-hearted  poet  Shakespeare.  Let 
him  follow  me  a  little  farther,  and  I  shall 
lay  before  him  matter  which,  without  the 
aid  of  riddles,  ciphers,  or  mysteries  of 
any  kind,  must  convince  him,  almost 
beyond  doubt,  that  the  Prince  and  the 
Poet  are  one  and  the  same  person. 


j6  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  ARGUMENT  CONTINUED  AND  FORTI- 
FIED  HOW  GENIUS  GETS  AN  EDUCA- 
TION. 

BEFORE  taking  up  the  Prince  in  the 
order  in  which  he  appears,  and  going 
right  on  with  him  to  the  end,  let  me  first 
complete  the  impression  made  by  the  ex- 
tract I  gave  from  the  opening  scene  in 
Henry  V.,  and  thus  show  how  this  in- 
teresting Prince,  full  of  knowledge  and 
power,  came  by  his  education  : 

Arch.     The  king  is  full  of  grace  and  fair  regard. 

Bish.     And  a  true  lover  of  the  holy  Church. 

Arch.     The  courses  of  his  youth  promised  it  not. 
The  breath  no  sooner  left  his  father's  body, 
But  that  his  vvildness,  mortified  in  him, 
Seemed  to  die  too  :  yea.  at  that  very  moment, 
Consideration  like  an  angel  came, 
And  whipped  the  offending  Adam  out  of  him, 
Leaving  his  body  as  a  paradise, 
To  envelop  and  contain  celestial  spirits. 
Never  was  such  a  sudden  scholar  made  : 


PORTRAYED  BY  HIMSELF. 


17 


Never  came  reformation  in  a  flood, 

With  such  a  heady  current,  scouring  faults ; 

Nor  never  hydra-headed  wilfulness 

So  soon  did  lose  his  seat,  and  all  at  once, 

As  in  this  king. 

Bish.     We  are  blessed  in  the  change. 

Arch.     Hear  him  but  reason  in  divinity, 
And,  all-admiring,  with  an  inward  wish 
You  would  desire  the  king  were  made  a  prelate  : 
Hear  him  debate  of  commonwealth  affairs, 
You  would  say  it  hath  been  all-in-all  his  study  : 
List  his  discourse  of  war,  and  you  shall  hear 
A  fearful  battle  rendered  you  in  music : 
Turn  him  to  any  cause  of  policy, 
The  Gordian  knot  of  it  he  will  unloose, 
Familiar  as  his  garter ;  that,  when  he  speaks, 
The  air,  a  chartered  libertine,  is  still, 
And  the  mute  wonder  lurketh  in  men's  ears, 
To  steal  his  sweet  and  honey'd  sentences ; 
So  that  the  art  and  practic  part  of  life 
Must  be  the  mistress  to  his  theoric : 
Which  is  a  wonder,  how  his  grace  should  glean  it, 
Since  his  addiction  was  to  courses  vain  ; 
His  companions  unlettered,  rude,  and  shallow  ; 
His  hours  filled  up  with  riots,  banquets,  sports ; 
And  never  noted  in  him  any  study, 
Any  retirement,  any  sequestration 
From  open  haunts  and  popularity. 

This  is  precisely  the  language  of  those 
who  now  say  Shakespeare  could  not  have 


1%  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

been  the  author  of  the  works  attributed 
to  him,  and  seems  by  a  kind  of  prophecy 
to  have  been  made  to  answer  them. 
Now  mark  how  the  Bishop  is  made  to 
explain  how  such  a  man  may  come  by 
his  knowledge : 

Bish.     The    strawberry    grows    underneath    the 
nettle, 
And  wholesome  berries  thrive  and  ripen  best 
Neighbored  by  fruit  of  baser  quality  : 
And  so  the  prince  obscured  his  contemplation 
Under  the  veil  of  wildness ;  which,  no  doubt, 
Grew  like  the  summer  grass,  fastest  by  night, 
Unseen,  yet  crescive  in  his  faculty. 

Arch.     It  must  be  so  ;  for  miracles  are  ceased, 
And  therefore  we  must  needs  admit  the  means 
How  things  are  perfected. 

How  significant,  how  autobiographical 
these  lines  seem,  in  the  light  of  what  we 
know  of  Shakespeare  1  Is  it  not  plain 
that  a  man  may  study,  grow,  ripen,  and 
become  wise  and  capable  without  all  the 
world  knowing  the  process?  Is  it  not 
evident  that  his  power  and  knowledge 
may  grow, 

Like  the  summer  grass,  fastest  by  night, 
Unseen,  yet  crescive  in  his  faculty  ? 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  x  g 

Shakespeare  undoubtedly  studied  when 
most  people  thought  he  was  asleep. 
His  early  years  in  Stratford — where  he 
is  supposed  to  have  written  Venus  and 
Adonis — were,  we  may  be  sure,  by  no 
means  studyless  years ;  for  a  man  of 
genius  will  study  ;  it  is  the  breath  of  his 
nostrils ;  no  man  of  genius  was  ever 
known  not  to  study.  Study,  or  as  the 
Archbishop  puts  it,  contemplation  is  the 
very  life,  the  very  food  of  his  soul  ;  and 
he  cannot  exist  without  it.  So  that  he 
probably  owed  much  more  to  midnight 
oil  than  anybody  ever  suspected.  Mira- 
cles have  indeed  ceased,  and  therefore  we 
must  admit  that  men  attain  perfection  by 
other  means  than  by  the  direct  interposi- 
tion of  Providence.  How  many  minds 
there  are  that,  by  self-exertion  alone, 
have  equalled  those  most  carefully  trained 
by  pedagogues  and  professors !  These 
are  they  that,  "crescive  in  their  faculty, 
grow  like  the  summer  grass,  fastest  by 
night,"  in  quiet  and  silent  meditation ; 
these  are  they  that  have  made,  not  merely 
books,  but  the  world  the  subject  of  their 


20  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

studies ;  not  merely  science,  but  men  and 
women,  institutions,  governments,  and 
passing  events  ;  and  the  result  is  a  large 
and  liberal  intellectual  culture,  without 
pedantry  or  self-conceit,  and  with  facul- 
ties working:  free  of  all  narrow  rules  and 
regulations. 

The  chief  argument  of  the  believers  in 
the  Baconian  theory  is,  that  while  Shake- 
speare was  a  man  of  little  or  no  literary 
culture,  and  had  passed  his  youth  in  com- 
mon labor, 

His  companies  unlettered,  rude,  and  shallow ; 
His  hours  filled  up  with  riots,  banquets,  sports  ; 
And  never  noted  in  him  any  study, 
Any  retirement,  any  sequestration 
From  open  haunts  and  popularity, 

Bacon  was  from  his  earliest  years  the 
child  of  culture,  the  recipient  of  the  best 
training  of  his  day,  the  companion  of 
princes,  statesmen,  scholars,  and  refined 
people,  and  a  thinker  and  student  all  his 
life  ;  and  that  none  but  a  man  of  this 
stamp  could  have  composed  the  plays 
which  go  under  Shakespeare's  name. 
Lord  Bacon  was  all  they  claim  him  to  be, 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HI  MS  EL  F.  2 1 

a  man  of  wonderful  powers  and  vast 
learning;  but  those  who  advance  this 
argument  against  Shakespeare  know 
nothing  of  the  nature  and  working  of 
genius.  Such  people  seem  to  be  una- 
ware of  the  fact,  that  some  of  the  finest 
minds  the  world  ever  saw  grew  to  ma- 
turity and  worked  most  of  their  won- 
ders without  having  received  any  special 
training,  without  being  endowed  with 
any  extraordinary  culture,  and  with- 
out having  had  the  advantage  of  any 
society  beyond  the  commonest ;  and  that 
some  of  the  finest  productions,  in  art  and 
literature,  that  the  world  possesses,  are 
the  work  of  men  who  spent  their  lives 
amid  rude  and  unlettered  companions. 
Bunyan,  who  wrote  the  finest  allegory 
produced  in  2000  years,  and  whose  style 
as  a  writer  is  unsurpassed  for  force, 
beauty,  and  simplicity,  was  a  common 
tinker,  whose  associates  were  tinkers, 
tapsters,  bell-ringers,  soldiers,  and  puri- 
tanical ranters,  and  who  had  learned  little 
more  than  to  read  the  English  Bible ; 
Burns,  the  first  and   finest   poet   of  Scot- 


22  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

land,  whose  works  are  read  and  admired 
by  the  whole  civilized  world,  was  a  com- 
mon laboring  peasant,  up  to  his  knees  in 
dirt  and  manure  till  his  twenty-eighth  year, 
with  hardly  any  schooling  to  speak  of,  and 
with  none  but  cattle,  carters,  and  country 
bumpkins  for  companions  ;  Lincoln,  the 
first  and  foremost  of  American  statesmen, 
whose  speeches  in  the  campaign  against 
Douglas  and  whose  address  at  Gettys- 
burg will  stand  comparison  with  the  best 
utterances  of  our  most  polished  orators, 
was  born  in  a  log-cabin  in  the  wild 
West  and  bred  as  a  common  rail-splitter 
and  boatman.  What  education  these 
men  had,  they  got,  like  every  man  of 
real  power,  by  self-exertion,  by  their  own 
quiet,  unaided  efforts.  No  man,  not  even 
the  college-graduate,  acquires  through 
the  teaching  of  others  the  power  which 
makes  him  what  he  is  ;  no  man  ever  ac- 
quires any  real  mental  power  except  by 
his  own  efforts ;  and  no  man  ever  at- 
tained distinction  in  art  or  literature 
except  by  what  he  taught  himself.  It  is 
only  when  the  scholar  has   broken  away 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


23 


from  his  teachers  and  begun  to  teach 
himself  that  he  commences  to  gain  power ; 
it  is  only  when  his  mind  begins  to  work 
of  its  own  accord  that  it  commences  to 
expand  into  independent  activity.  Not 
scholastic  nor  literary  lore  ;  not  intellect- 
ual training  nor  foreign  travel ;  not  the 
companionship  of  princes  nor  of  refined 
and  cultured  people  ;  none  of  these  things 
supplies  the  Promethean  spark  which  en- 
ables the  poet  to  work  his  wonders  ; — 
it  is  something  finer,  nobler,  rarer  than 
any  or  all  of  these  things  ;  it  is  that 
divine  essence  which  we  call  genius,  that 
intellectual  light  which  comes  from  God 
through  nature,  which  shines  steadily  or 
fitfully  in  the  peasant  as  in  the  prince, 
and  which  all  other  things  may  aid,  but 
which  none  can  create. 

Let  me  give  one  or  two  more  exam- 
ples. Here  is  our  most  famous  and  per- 
haps most  highly  admired  American  ora- 
tor, Patrick  Henry,  who  spent  nearly  all 
his  time,  till  his  fortieth  year,  in  fishing 
and  hunting  in  the  rivers  and  woods  of 
Virginia,  becoming  familiar  with  nature 


24  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

and  man  in  their  wildest  state,  and  car- 
ing almost  as  little  for  books  as  the  abo- 
rigines with  whom  he  associated.  He 
was  literally  a  denizen  of  the  woods  most 
of  his  life,  and  never  took  a  book  in  hand 
except  when  compelled  to  do  so.  It  was 
in  this  free  and  independent  way  of  liv- 
ing that  he  acquired  that  passionate  love 
of  liberty  for  which  he  was  afterwards 
distinguished,  and  which  he  so  eloquently 
expressed  in  his  famous  speech  against 
George  III.  He  had  been  at  one  time 
a  store-keeper,  at  another,  according  to 
Jefferson,  a  bar-keeper,  at  another  a  stu- 
dent at  law  ;  and  when  he  presented  him- 
self before  the  examiners  to  secure  his 
license  to  practice,  he  was  found  to  be  so 
deficient  in  le^al  knowledge  that  it  was 
only  by  special  favor  that  he  obtained 
his  license ;  and  yet,  when  the  Revolu- 
tionary war  broke  out,  and  duty  sum- 
moned him  to  action,  he  suddenly  burst 
upon  the  world  as  an  orator  of  the  first 
rank,  a  man  of  remarkable  power,  whose 
speeches  annihilated  all  opposition  and 
determined  the  fate  of  the  nation  in  a 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


25 


jrrcat  crisis ;  a  man  who  stood  head  and 
shoulders  above  all  the  learned  and  col- 
lege-bred men  by  whom  he  was  sur- 
rounded. 

Here  is  Charles  James  Fox,  one  of  the 
ablest  of  English  statesmen  and  most  elo- 
quent of  English  orators,  of  whom  Sir 
Philip  Francis,  who  knew  him  well,  made 
this  remarkable  statement :  "  They  know 
nothing  of  Mr.  Fox  who  think  that  he 
was  what  is  commonly  called  well  edu- 
cated. I  know  that  he  was  directly  or 
very  nearly  the  reverse.  His  mind  edu- 
cated itself ;  not  by  early  study  or  in- 
struction, but  by  active  listening  and 
rapid  apprehension.  He  said  so  himself 
in  the  House  of  Commons  when  he  and 
Mr.  Burke  parted — [that  he  had  learned 
more  from  the  conversation  of  Mr.  Burke 
than  from  all  the  books  he  had  ever  read  |. 
His  powerful  understanding  grew  like  a 
forest  oak,  not  by  cultivation,  but  by  neg- 
lect." 

''Grew  by  neglect!"  what  an  expres- 
sion !  It  seems  to  hit  the  mark  exactly, 
not  only  with  regard  to  the  great  orator, 


26  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

but  with  regard  to  the  great  dramatist. 
For  if  the  mind  of  the  English  statesman 
and  orator  could  grow  by  neglect,  why 
not  that  of  his  great  countryman,  the  all- 
observing  and  all-absorbing  Shakespeare? 
Who  does  not  know  that  there  are  cer- 
tain plants  which  flourish  best  when  free 
from  all  restraint  ?  and  who  has  not  heard 
of  men  and  women  who  declared  they 
prospered  best  when  entirely  free  from 
the  restraints  and  restrictions  of  the  ped- 
agogue and  the  ferule  ?  "His  powerful 
understanding  grew  like  a  forest  oak,  not 
by  cultivation,  but  by  neglect."  I  thank 
thee,  Sir  Philip,  for  that  word  ;  it  is  an 
inspiration  of  genius,  revealing  the  true 
nature  of  genius:  it  is  Junius  describ- 
ing Fox.  Probably  no  words  could  bet- 
ter characterize  Shakespeare's  education, 
which,  poor  as  it  may  seem  to  the  Baco- 
nians, was  far  better  for  him  than  hav- 
ing his  head  stuffed  with  Greek  parti- 
cles and  Latin  roots.  Classical  training 
might  have  spoiled  him,  as  it  has  spoiled 
many  a  man  before  and  since  :  it  might 
have    squeezed    nature    out   of   him,  and 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  2  7 

moulded  him  into  one  of  those  stiff,  for- 
mal, pedantic  writers  of  classical  poetry 
that  were  so  common  in  his  day  and  are 
not  unknown  in  ours.  As  it  was,  he 
painted  English  men  and  manners  in 
English  words  and  in  English  ways  ;  he 
represented  his  countrymen  in  the  lan- 
guage and  in  the  manner  of  his  country- 
men ;  he  spoke  like  the  common  people 
and  thought  like  the  most  cultured,  and 
had  he  received  a  Greek  and  Latin  train- 
ing, he  might  have  given  all  his  thoughts 
a  Greek  and  Latin  tinge,  and  written  no 
better  than  the  rest  of  the  learned  dra- 
matic tribe. 

Here  is  the  French  Shakespeare, 
Moliere,  the  man  who,  of  all  French 
writers,  has  most  truly  observed  and 
painted  human  nature — this  man  was 
brought  up  to  his  father's  trade,  that  of 
a  fripicr,  or  mender  of  old  clothes.  Like 
Burns's  mother,  he  could 

"  Gar  auld  claes  look  amaist  as  vveel's  the  new ;  " 
and   doubtless   his  early  training   served 
him    in   good  stead  in  his  later  occupa- 
tion   as    playwright    and    stage-manager. 


28  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

It  was  not  until  one  eventful  night  in 
his  fifteenth  year,  when  a  kinsman  brought 
him  to  see  a  comedy  acted  at  the  Hotel 
de  Bourorocrne,  t|iat  he  conceived   a    de- 

sire  for  "something  better  than  he  had 
known,"  something  fitter  for  him  than 
mending  and  refashioning  old  clothes ; 
and  a  burning  thirst  for  knowledge  took 
possession  of  him.  He  longed  for  an 
opportunity  to  cultivate  his  mind,  to 
"  unroll  the  ample  page  of  knowledge, 
rich  with  the  spoils  of  time "  ;  and  he 
succeeded,  much  against  the  will  of  his 
father,  in  gaining  admission  to  a  Jesuit 
college.  But  it  is  well  known  that  a  man 
who  is  thus  suddenly  awakened  to  the 
importance  and  beauty  of  knowledge, 
and  starving  for  the  want  of  it,  will  get 
an  education  in  spite  of  poverty  or  riches, 
danger  or  difficulty,  in  spite  of  the  arbi- 
trary rules  of  pedants,  or  the  dull  formal- 
ism of  professors ;  and  nobody  imagines 
that  Moliere  became  what  he  was  through 
the  training  of  schoolmasters.  Tis  true, 
O  worshipper  of  Greek-and-Latin  cul- 
ture !  this   man  Moliere,  the  greatest  of 


PORTRAYED  BY  HIMSELF. 


29 


all  French  writers,  did  learn  to  clean, 
mend,  and  alter  old  clothes,  as  a  means 
of  earning  his  bread  !  Although  Shake- 
speare was  the  son  of  a  wool-comber,  and 
is  said  to  have  worked  at  his  father's 
trade,  he  suffered  no  humiliation  there- 
by, any  more  than  Moliere,  nor  rendered 
himself  less  capable  of  intellectual  exer- 
tion. A  certain  amount  of  manual  labor 
is,  in  fact,  favorable  to  intellectual  exer- 
tion. What  an  honor  and  what  an  en- 
couragement to  the  hardy  sons  of  Toil, 
to  think  that  the  two  greatest  dramatic 
poets  of  the  two  greatest  European  na- 
tions should  belong  to  their  guild  ! 

The  great  power  of  genius,  the  great 
achievements  of  genius,  come,  not  from 
the  study  of  books,  but  from  personal 
observation  and  silent  reflection.  There 
are  many  men  of  eminence  who  have 
openly  declared,  that  their  college  train- 
ing was  worse  than  useless  ;  that  it  was 
nothing  but  a  hindrance  to  their  mental 
development  (for  there  are  very  few  real 
teachers  in  the  world)  ;  that  they  had  to 
unlearn  most  of  what  they  had  learned  at 


3Q 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


college  ;  and  that  their  real  training  began 
only  after  leaving  college.  It  was  inter- 
course with  the  world  that  did  for  them 
what  their  teachers  were  unable  to  do  : 
it  was  personal  experience  among  men 
that  awoke  in  them  a  thirst  for  knowledge 
and  a  determination  to  study  for  them- 
selves. "  I  learned  nothing  at  college," 
says  Voltaire,  "  but  Latin  and  nonsense." 
"  I  am  sorry  that  I  ever  was  sent  to  col- 
lege," says  Ralph  Bernal  Osborne,  the  bril- 
liant parliamentary  orator,  "  for  I  learned 
nothing  there  but  vices  and  bad  habits." 
"  It  is  good  to  go  through  college,"  says 
Emerson,  "  to  see  how  little  there  is  in 
it ; "  and  Hazlitt  boldly  maintains  that 
"  any  man  who  has  passed  through  the 
regular  gradations  of  a  classical  educa- 
tion, and  is  not  made  a  fool  by  it,  may 
consider  himself  as  having  had  a  narrow 
escape." 

The  study  of  the  classics  is  by  no 
means  always  the  best  thing  for  a  youth 
of  genius.  Where  a  dozen  young  men 
come  together  to  discuss  questions  of 
the  hour,  to  talk,  to  compare  views,  to 


PORTRAYED  BY  HIMSELF. 


31 


examine  systems,  or  to  criticise  and 
laugh  at  men  and  things, — that  is  some- 
times the  best  college  for  such  a  youth. 
Such  was  Burns's  college  at  Dunferm- 
line  ;  such  was  Curran's  college  at  the 
London  debating  club ;  and  such  has 
been  the  college  of  many  another,  who 
attained  distinction  without  ever  setting 
foot  within  college  walls.  It  makes  no 
matter  how  a  man  gets  an  education, 
provided  he  gets  it ;  and  some  get  it 
out  of  school  much  better  than  in  it. 
Half  the  men  who  lead  public  opinion 
in  the  United  States  to-day,  as  editors 
and  writers,  are  graduates  of  a  printing- 
office.  "  In  youth,"  says  Walter  Bage- 
hot,  "  the  real  plastic  energy  is  not  in 
tutors,  or  lectures,  or  in  books  'got 
up';  but  in  Homer  and  Plutarch;  in 
the  books  that  all  read  because  all  like ; 
in  what  all  talk  of  because  all  are  in- 
terested ;  or  in  the  argumentative  walk 
and  disputatious  lounge  ;  in  the  impact 
of  young  thought  upon  young  thought, 
of   fresh  thought  on  fresh   thought ;    of 


32  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

hot  thought  on  hot  thought ;  in  mirth 
and  refutation,  in  ridicule  and  laughter ; 
for  these  are  the  free  play  of  the  natural 
mind ; "  and  these  form  the  most  mind- 
quickening  and  thought-stirring  exercises 
that  the  student  can  engage  in.  That  is 
why  the  teacher  who  instructs  without 
book,  who  employs  his  own  language 
instead  of  that  of  the  book,  is  so  much 
more  successful  than  the  regular  word- 
cramming  pedagogue. 

In  Shakespeare's  time,  the  world  was 
alive  with  discussion  ;  the  human  mind, 
after  a  sleep  of  nearly  a  thousand  years, 
had  awakened  to  a  love  of  knowledge, 
and  had  begun  in  earnest  to  discuss 
philosophy,  religion,  politics,  and  natural 
science.  Printing,  the  Reformation,  and 
the  discoveries  in  America  and  India  had 
set  men  a-thinking  and  whetted  their 
appetite  for  knowledge ;  and  wherever 
two  or  three  were  gathered  together, 
there  was  a  school  of  thought ;  there 
was  a  college  and  a  training-school  for 
genius.     This  was    the  living   school    in 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  3  3 

which  Shakespeare  was  educated;  this 
was  the  school  in  which  his  mind  ex- 
panded into  a  recognition  of  its  own 
powers,  and  in  which  he  began  making 
those  observations  which  he  subsequent- 
ly turned  to  so  good  account.  Probably 
he,  too,  like  Fox,  learned  more  from 
conversation  than  he  did  from  books. 
Of  one  thing  we  may  be  sure,  that  of 
nothing  was  he  more  fond  than  of  talk- 
ing with  men  and  women  who  could  thus 
communicate  their  thoughts,  pleasantly 
or  forcibly,  one  to  another. 

I  have  heard  Edward  Everett  Hale 
say  that  the  best  men  of  Elizabeth's  time 
were  taught  "  to  read,  write,  speak  the 
truth,  and  hate  the  Spaniard,"  and  that 
was  all  !  Yet  what  mighty  men  there 
were  in  those  days !  They  were  indeed 
giants,  giants  greater  than  any  in  an- 
cient fable  or  modern  romance ;  and 
their  power  came  not  so  much  from  the 
study  of  books,  as  from  actual  observa- 
tion of  men  and  things,  from  practical 
thinking  and  talking  on  the  questions 
3 


34 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


of  the  day.     Like  the  Duke  in  As  You 
Like  It,  they  could 

Find  tongues  in  trees,  books  in  the  running  brooks, 
Sermons  in  stones,  and  good  in  everything. 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


35 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  PRINCE  AND  THE  POET  COMPARED. 

LET  us  now  go  back,  and  take  up  the 
Prince,  from  the  moment  in  which 
he  is  first  mentioned  by  Shakespeare, 
and  go  forward  with  him  until  that  in 
which  he  quits  the  scene  of  action.  We 
shall  find  that  his  character  is  uniformly 
that  of  the  Poet  ;  that  it  uniformly  agrees 
with  all  that  we  know  of  the  Poet  ;  and 
that  in  this  play  there  is  a  revelation  of 
him  beyond  that  which  will  be  found  in 
any  other  of  his  plays.  I  have  said  that 
Shakespeare  makes  him  a  chief  charac- 
ter in  three  plays ;  he  forms,  in  fact, 
one  of  the  characters  in  four  ;  although 
in  one,  that  in  which  he  is  first  men- 
tioned, he  does  not  come  on  the  stage. 
In  Richard  III.,  Act  V.,  Scene  III.,  the 
following  passage  occurs  : 


36  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

Windsor :    A    Room    in    the    Court    Castle. 

Enter  Bolingbroke    as  King;   Percy,    and  other 

Lords. 

Bol.      Can  no  man  tell  me  of  my  unthrifty  son  ? 
'Tis  full  three  months  since  I  did  see  him  last : 
If  any  plague  hang  over  us,  'tis  he. 
I  would  to  God,  my  lords,  he  might  be  found. 
Inquire  at  London,  'mongst  the  taverns  there, 
For  there,  they  say,  he  daily  doth  frequent, 
With  unrestrained  loose  companions  ; 
Even  such,  they  say,  as  stand  in  narrow  lanes, 
And  beat  our  watch,  and  rob  our  passengers ; 
While  he,  young  wanton,  and  effeminate  boy, 
Takes  on  the  point  of  honor  to  support 
So  dissolute  a  crew. 

Per.      My  lord,  some  two  days  since   I   saw  the 
prince, 
And  told  him  of  these  triumphs  held  at  Oxford. 

Bol.      And  what  said  the  gallant  ? 

Per.      His  answer  was, — he  would  unto  the  stews, 
And  from  the  commonest  creature  pluck  a  glove, 
And  wear  it  as  a  favor ;  and  with  that 
He  would  unhorse  the  lustiest  challenger. 

Bol.      As   dissolute   as   desperate  :  yet,  through 
both 
I  see  some  sparks  of  better  hope,  which  elder  days 
May  happily  bring  forth. 

This  skilfully  prepares  the  reader  for 
what  is  coming.     Now  observe  this  full- 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


37 


length  portrait  of  the  Prince,  as  he  first 
appears  in  the  opening  scenes  of  the 
First  Part  of  Henry  IV.  : 

Scene  II.     London.     A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Prince  Henry  and  Falstaff. 

Fal.     Now,  Hal,  what  time  of  day  is  it,  lad  ? 

Prince.  Thou  art  so  fat-witted  with  drinking  of 
old  sack,  and  unbuttoning  thee  after  supper,  and 
sleeping  upon  benches  after  noon,  that  thou  hast 
forgotten  to  demand  that  truly  which  thou  wouldst 
truly  know.  What  a  devil  hast  thou  to  do  with  the 
time  of  the  day  ?  unless  hours  were  cups  of  sack, 
and  minutes  capons,  and  clocks  the  tongues  of 
bawds,  and  dials  the  signs  of  leaping-houses,  and 
the  blessed  sun  himself  a  fair  hot  wench  in  flame- 
colored  taffata.  I  see  no  reason  why  thou  shouldst 
be  so  superfluous  to  demand  the  time  of  the  clay. 

Fal.  Indeed,  you  come  near  me  now,  Hal ;  for 
we  that  take  purses  go  by  the  moon  and  the  seven 
stars,  and  not  by  Phoebus, — he,  "  that  wander- 
ing knight  so  fair."  And  I  pr'ythee,  sweet  wag, 
when  thou  art  king, — as,  God  save  thy  grace, — 
majesty,  I  should  say,  for  grace  thou  wilt  have 
none, — 

Prince.     What !   none  ? 

Fal.  No,  by  my  troth  ;  not  so  much  as  wilt  serve 
to  be  prologue  to  an  egg  and  butter. 

Prince.  Well,  how  then  ?  Come,  roundly, 
roundly. 

434072 


33 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


Fal.  Marry,  then,  sweet  wag,  when  thou  art 
king,  let  not  us,  that  are  squires  of  the  night's 
body,  be  called  thieves  of  the  day's  beauty  :  let  us 
be  Diana's  foresters,  gentlemen  of  the  shade,  min- 
ions of  the  moon ;  and  let  men  say,  we  be  men  of 
good  government,  being  governed  as  the  sea  is,  by 
our  noble  and  chaste  mistress,  the  moon,  under 
whose  countenance  we — steal ! 

Prince.  Thou  say'st  well,  and  it  holds  well,  too  ; 
for  the  fortune  of  us  that  are  the  moon's  men  doth 
ebb  and  flow  like  the  sea,  being  governed,  as  the 
sea  is,  by  the  moon.  As  for  proof  now  :  A  purse  of 
gold  most  resolutely  snatched  on  Monday  night, 
and  most  dissolutely  spent  on  Tuesday  morning ; 
got  with  swearing — Lay  by  ;  and  spent  with  crying 
— Bring  in  ;  now  in  as  low  an  ebb  as  the  foot  of 
the  ladder,  and  by  and  by  in  as  high  a  flow  as  the 
ridge  of  the  gallows. 

Fal.  By  the  Lord,  thou  say'st  true,  lad.  And 
is  not  my  hostess  of  the  tavern  a  most  sweet  wench  ? 

Pri?ice.  As  the  honey  of  Hybla,  my  old  lad  of 
the  castle.  'And  is  not  a  buff  jerkin  a  most  sweet 
robe  of  durance  ? 

Fal.  How  now,  how  now,  mad  wag  ?  what,  in 
thy  quips  and  thy  quiddities  ?  what  a  plague  have 
I  to  do  with  a  buff  jerkin  ? 

Prince.  Why,  what  a  pox  have  I  to  do  with  my 
hostess  of  the  tavern  ? 

Fal.  Well,  thou  hast  called  her  to  a  reckoning, 
many  a  time  and  oft. 

Pritice.     Did  I  ever  call  for  thee  to  pay  thy  part  ? 


FOR TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  39 

Fal.  No  :  I'll  give  thee  thy  due  ;  thou  hast  paid 
all  there. 

Prince.  Yea,  and  elsewhere,  so  far  as  my  coin 
would  stretch ;  and  where  it  would  not,  I  have  used 
my  credit. 

Fal.  Yea,  and  so  used  it,  that  were  it  not  here 
apparent  that  thou  art  heir  apparent, — But,  I 
pr'ythee,  sweet  wag,  shall  there  be  gallows  standing 
in  England  when  thou  art  king  ?  and  resolution 
thus  fobbed,  as  it  is,  with  the  rusty  curb  of  old  father 
antic  the  law  ?  Do  not  thou,  when  thou  art  king, 
hang  a  thief. 

Prince.     No  :  thou  shalt. 

Fal.  Shall  I  ?  O  rare  !  By  the  Lord,  I'll  be  a 
brave  judge. 

Prince.  Thou  judgest  false  already.  I  mean, 
thou  shalt  have  the  hanging  of  the  thieves,  and  so 
become  a  rare  hangman. 

Fal.  Well,  Hal,  well ;  and  in  some  sort  it 
jumps  with  my  humor,  as  well  as  waiting  in  the 
court,  I  can  tell  you. 

Prince.     For  obtaining  of  suits  ? 

Fal.  Yea,  for  obtaining  of  suits, — whereof  the 
hangman  hath  no  lean  wardrobe.  'Sblood,  I  am 
as  melancholy  as  a  gib-cat,  or  a  lugged  bear. 

Prince.     Or  an  old  lion  ;  or  a  lover's  lute. 

Fal.  Yea,  or  the  drone  of  a  Lincolnshire  bag- 
pipe. 

Prince.  What  say'st  thou  to  a  hare,  (  r  the  mel- 
ancholy of  Moor-ditch  ? 

Fal.     Thou    hast    the    most    unsavory   similes ; 


40 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


and  art,  indeed,  the  most  comparative,  rascalliest, 
sweet  young  prince. — But,  Hal,  I  pr'ythee,  trouble 
me  no  more  with  vanity.  I  would  to  God,  thou  and 
I  knew  where  a  commodity  of  good  names  were  to 
be  bought.  An  old  lord  of  the  Council  rated  me 
the  other  day  in  the  street  about  you,  sir ;  but  I 
marked  him  not :  and  yet  he  talked  very  wisely ; 
but  I  regarded  him  not :  and  yet  he  talked  wisely, 
and  in  the  street  too. 

Prince.  Thou  didst  well ;  for  wisdom  cries  out  in 
the  streets,  and  no  man  regards  it. 

Fal.  O  !  thou  hast  damnable  iteration,  and  art, 
indeed,  able  to  corrupt  a  saint.  Thou  hast  done 
much  harm  upon  me,  Hal.  God  forgive  thee  for 
it !  Before  I  knew  thee,  Hal,  I  knew  nothing ; 
and  now  am  I,  if  a  man  should  speak  truly,  little 
better  than  one  of  the  wicked.  I  must  give  over 
this  life,  and  I  will  give  it  over ;  by  the  Lord,  an  I 
do  not,  I  am  a  villain.  I'll  be  damned  for  never  a 
king's  son  in  Christendom. 

Prince.  Where  shall  we  take  a  purse  to-morrow, 
Jack? 

Fal.  Zounds  !  where  thou  wilt,  lad  ;  I'll  make 
one ;  an  I  do  not,  call  me  villain,  and  baffle  me. 

Priftce.  I  see  a  good  amendment  of  life  in  thee  : 
from  praying  to  purse-taking. 

Enter  Poins,  at  a  distance. 

Fal.  Why,  Hal,  'tis  my  vocation,  Hal  [z.  e.  a 
plundcr-seeki?ig  soldier]  :  'Tis  no  sin  for  a  man  to 
labor  in  his  vocation.  Poins  ! — Now  shall  we  know 
if  Gadshill  have  set  a  match.     O !  if  men  were  to 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  4  x 

be  saved  by  merit,  what  hole  in  hell  were  hot 
enough  for  him !  This  is  the  most  omnipotent 
villain  that  ever  cried,  Stand !  to  a  true  man. 

Prince.     Good  morrow,  Ned. 

Poms.  Good  morrow,  sweet  Hal. — What  says 
Monsieur  Remorse  ?  What  says  Sir  John  Sack-and- 
Sugar  ?  Jack,  how  agrees  the  devil  and  thee  about 
thy  soul,  that  thou  soldest  him,  on  Good- Friday 
last,  for  a  cup  of  Madeira  and  a  cold  capon's  leg? 

Prince.  Sir  John  stands  to  his  word  ;  the  devil 
shall  have  his  bargain  ;  for  he  was  never  yet  a 
breaker  of  proverbs  :  he  will  give  the  devil  his  due. 

Poins.  Then  art  thou  damned  for  keeping  thy 
word  with  the  devil. 

Prince.  Else  he  had  been  damned  for  cozening 
the  devil. 

Poins.  But,  my  lads,  my  lads,  to-morrow  morning 
by  four  o'clock,  early  at  Gadshill.  There  are  pil- 
grims going  to  Canterbury  with  rich  offerings,  and 
traders  riding  to  London  with  fat  purses.  I  have 
visors  for  you  all ;  you  have  horses  for  yourselves. 
Gadshill  lies  to-night  in  Rochester ;  I  have  be- 
spoke supper  to-morrow  night  in  Eastcheap :  we 
may  do  it  as  secure  as  sleep.  If  you  will  go,  I  will 
stuff  your  purses  full  of  crowns  ;  if  you  will  not, 
tarry  at  home  and  be  hanged. 

Pal.  Hear  ye,  Yedward :  if  I  tarry  at  home,  and 
go  not,  I'll  hang  you  for  going. 

Poins.     You  will,  chops  ? 

Pal.     Hal,  wilt  thou  make  one  ? 


42  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

Prince.  Who,  I  rob  ?  I  a  thief  ?  Not  I,  by  my 
faith. 

Fal.  There's  neither  honesty,  manhood,  nor 
good  fellowship  in  thee,  nor  thou  cam'st  not  of  the 
blood  royal,  if  thou  dar'st  not  stand  for  ten  shillings 
[the  royal  or  real  was  a  coin  worth  ten  shillings]. 

Prince.  Well,  then,  once  in  my  life  I'll  be  a  mad- 
cap. 

Fal.     Why,  that's  well  said. 

Prince.     Well,  come  what  will,  I'll  tarry  at  home. 

Fal.  By  the  Lord,  I'll  be  a  traitor,  then,  when 
thou  art  king. 

Prince.     I  care  not. 

Poins.  Sir  John,  I  pr'ythee,  leave  the  prince  and 
me  alone :  I  will  lay  him  down  such  reasons  for  this 
adventure,  that  he  shall  go. 

Fal.  Well,  God  give  thee  the  spirit  of  persua- 
sion, and  him  the  ears  of  profiting,  that  what  thou 
speakest  may  move,  and  what  he  hears  may  be  be- 
lieved, that  the  true  prince  may  (for  recreation's 
sake)  prove  a  false  thief ;  for  the  poor  abuses  of 
the  time  want  countenance.  Farewell :  You  shall 
find  me  in  Eastcheap. 

Prince.  Farewell,  thou  latter  spring !  Farewell, 
All-hallown  summer !  [Exit  Falstaff. 

Poins.  Now,  my  good,  sweet,  honey  lord,  ride 
with  us  to-morrow.  I  have  a  jest  to  execute  that 
I  cannot  manage  alone.  FalstafL.  Bardolph,  Peto 
and  Gadshill,  shall  rob  those  men  that  we  have 
already  waylaid :  yourself  and  I  will  not  be  there ; 


PORTRAYED  BY  HIMSELF. 


43 


and  when  they  have  the  booty,  if  you  and  I  do  not 
rob  them,  cut  this  head  from  my  shoulders. 

Prince.  How  shall  we  part  with  them  in  setting 
forth  ? 

Poins.  Why,  we  will  set  forth  before  or  after 
them,  and  appoint  them  a  place  of  meeting,  wherein 
it  is  at  our  pleasure  to  fail ;  and  then  will  they  ad- 
venture upon  the  exploit  themselves,  which  they 
shall  have  no  sooner  achieved,  but  we'll  set  upon 
them. 

Prince.  Ay,  but  'tis  like  that  they  will  know  us 
by  our  horses,  by  our  habits,  and  by  every  other 
appointment,  to  be  ourselves. 

J^oins.  Tut !  our  horses  they  shall  not  see ;  I'll 
tie  them  in  the  wood  :  our  visors  we  will  change, 
after  we  leave  them ;  and,  sirrah,  I  have  cases  of 
buckram  for  the  nonce,  to  inmask  our  noted  out- 
ward garments. 

Prince.  Yea,  but  I  doubt  they  will  be  too  hard 
for  us. 

Poins.  Well,  for  two  of  them,  I  know  them  to  be 
as  true-bred  cowards  as  ever  turned  back ;  and  for 
the  third,  if  he  fight  longer  than  he  sees  reason,  I'll 
forswear  arms.  The  virtue  of  this  jest  will  be  the 
incomparable  lies  that  this  same  fat  rogue  will  tell 
us  when  we  meet  at  supper :  how  thirty,  at  least, 
he  fought  with  ;  what  wards,  what  blows,  what  ex- 
tremities he  endured  ;  and,  in  the  reproof  of  this, 
lies  the  jest. 

Prince.     Well,  I'll  go  with  thee.     Provide  us  all 


44 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


things  necessary,  and  meet  me  to-morrow  night  in 
Eastcheap  ;  there  I'll  sup.     Farewell. 

Poins.     Farewell,  my  lord.  [Exit  Poins. 

Prince.     I  know  you  all,  and  will  a  while  uphold 
The  unyoked  humor  of  your  idleness  : 
Yet  herein  will  I  imitate  the  sun, 
Who  doth  permit  the  base  contagious  clouds 
To  smother  up  his  beauty  from  the  world, 
That,  when  he  please  again  to  be  himself, 
Being  wanted,  he  may  be  more  wondered  at, 
By  breaking  through  the  foul  and  ugly  mists 
Of  vapors,  that  did  seem  to  strangle  him. 
If  all  the  year  were  playing  holidays, 
To  sport  would  be  as  tedious  as  to  work  ; 
But,  when  they  seldom  come,  they  wished-for  come, 
And  nothing  pleaseth  but  rare  accidents. 
So,  when  this  loose  behavior  I  throw  off, 
And  pay  the  debt  I  never  promised, 
By  how  much  better  than  my  word  I  am, 
By  so  much  shall  I  falsify  men's  hopes  ; 
And,  like  bright  metal  on  a  sullen  ground, 
My  reformation,  glittering  o'er  my  fault, 
Shall  show  more  goodly,  and  attract  more  eyes, 
Than  that  which  hath  no  foil  to  set  it  off. 
I'll  so  offend,  to  make  offence  a  skill, 
Redeeming  time  when  men  think  least  I  will. 


'to 


Talk  about  the  wit-combats  between 
Shakespeare  and  Ben  Jonson !  Talk 
about  the  loss  to  literature  from  want  of  a 


PORTRAYED  BY  HIMSELF. 


45 


Boswell  to  report  them  !  Why,  here  they 
are,  reported  by  Shakespeare  himself ! 
What  finer  specimens  of  such  combats 
could  be  had  than  these  ?  These  are 
Shakespeare's  wit-combats  with  the  wit- 
tiest man  he  knew  ;  these  are  specimens 
of  his  talks  with  his  fellows  ;  these  are 
the  scenes  which  he  drew  from  his  own 
life  and  experience.  Who  does  not  feel 
that  these  are  the  words  "  so  nimble  and 
so  full  of  subtle  flame,"  which,  after  their 
author's  departure  from  the  Mermai.d 
Tavern,  "left  an  air  behind  them  which 
alone  was  able  to  make  the  next  two 
companies  right  witty?"  Shakespeare, 
who  "  never  blotted  a  line,"  wrote  as 
easily  as  he  talked,  and  talked  as  wittily 
and  wisely  as  he  wrote.  He  was,  like 
the  Prince,  a  lover  of  good  things  of  all 
kinds  ;  of  good  books,  good  conversation, 
good  wine,  good  company.  That  the 
Prince  was  well  acquainted  with  general 
literature,  is  evident  ;  that  he  was  famil- 
iar with  the  Bible  is  equally  so,  and  that, 
notwithstanding  the  levity  of  many  of  his 
speeches,  he  thought   deeply  on   life  and 


46 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


death,  and  observed  carefully  the  charac- 
ters of  men,  is  perfectly  clear.  He  was, 
in  fact,  notwithstanding  his  wildness,  one 
of  the  most  accomplished  princes  of  his 
time,  and  we  shall  see  that  the  Poet 
makes  him  resemble  his  creator  in  this 
respect. 

I  beg  the  reader  to  notice  carefully 
this  last  speech  of  the  Prince,  for  it  throws 
a  flood  of  light  on  his  character,  and,  to 
my  mind,  connects  it  unmistakably  with 
that  of  the  Poet.  Let  him  observe  the 
wise  reflection,  the  cool,  philosophic  con- 
templation, behind  "the  veil  of  wildness," 
which  it  displays.  Let  him  notice  that  it 
shows  plainly  he  is  not  one  of  them,  but 
an  observer,  a  player  among  them,  whose 
objects  are  far  different  from  theirs.  For 
what  does  this  line  mean, 

I'll  so  offend,  to  make  offence  a  skill, 

but  this  :  "  My  whole  desperate  conduct 
is  nothing  more  than  a  piece  of  skilful 
acting,  to  make  my  real  character  shine 
all  the  brighter  by-and-by  ?  "  And  who 
does  not  know  that  there  have  been  oth- 


PORTRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF. 


47 


ers,  quite  as  philosophic,  quite  as  gifted 
as  he,  who  also  sought  "rare  accidents" 
to  relieve  the  tedium  of  the  time  ?  Who, 
that  is  acquainted  with  the  life  of  Lord 
Byron,  for  instance,  does  not  know  that 
he  played  a  part  and  made  himself  "a 
motley  to  the  view,"  from  sheer  eccen- 
tricity of  genius  ? 

But  still  more  significant  is  this  line  : 

Redeeming  time  when  men  think  least  I  will. 

What  a  world  of  meaning  there  is  in 
that  line !  Is  not  this  another  evidence 
that  he  studied  when  nobody  knew  of 
it  ?  This  is  the  key,  the  secret  of  his 
success  ;  the  explanation  of  his  wonder- 
ful knowledge,  his  vast  acquaintance  with 
history,  literature,  science  and  art.  Who 
has  not  seen  the  same  thing  exemplified 
in  the  lives  of  other  eminent  and  success- 
ful men  ?  This  is  how  most  men  of 
eminence  gain  their  knowledge  ;  this  is 
how  genius  works ;  how  it  acquires  an  , 
education  and  accomplishes  its  wonders. 
The  Poet  was  silently  working  and  lay- 
ing in  stores  of  knowledge  and  wisdom 


48 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


when  the  rest  of  mankind  were  snoring  ; 
laying  in  stores  of  knowledge  at  a  time 
when  men  thought  least  he  would.  This, 
therefore,  is  plainly  a  leaf  from  his  own 
experience.  "  It  is  certain,"  says  that 
admirable  Shakespearean  scholar,  Mr. 
Hudson,  "that  in  mental  and  literary 
accomplishment  the  Prince  was  far  in  ad- 
vance of  the  age,  being  in  fact  as  well 
one  of  the  most  finished  gentlemen  as  of 
the  greatest  statesmen  and  best  men  of 
his  time.  It  was  for  the  old  chroniclers 
to  talk  of  his  miraculous  conversion. 
Shakespeare,  in  a  far  wiser  spirit,  brings 
his  conduct  within  the  ordinary  rules  and 
measures  of  human  character,  represent- 
ing whatsoever  changes  occur  in  him  as 
proceeding  by  the  methods  and  propor- 
tions of  nature."  Precisely ;  his  own 
nature  and  experience.  He  had  been 
such  a  man  ;  he  had  done  such  things  ; 
and  he  had  doubtless  acted  with  similar 
motives. 

Notice  how  conscious  the  Prince  is, 
even  while  associating  with  evil-doers, 
and    apparently    furthering  their  wicked 


PORTRAYED  BY  HIMSELF. 


49 


devices,  of  the  consequences  of  evil 
deeds.  No  sooner  has  he  described  the 
ebb  and  flow  of  the  purse  of  the  thief, 
than  he  adds,  "  Now  in  as  low  an  ebb  as 
the  foot  of  the  ladder,  and  by-and-by  in 
as  high  a  flow  as  the  ridge  of  the  gal- 
lows!" And  when  Falstaff  asks,  imme- 
diately after,  "  Is  not  my  hostess  of  the 
tavern  a  most  sweet  wench  ?  "  the  Prince 
replies  :  "  As  the  honey  of  Hybla,  my  old 
lad  of  the  castle.  And  is  not  a  buff 
jerkin  \thc  coat  of  a  sheriff's  officcr~\  a 
most  sweet  robe  of  durance  ?  "  That  is  : 
"Oh  yes,  she  is  very  amiable;  but  is  it 
not  a  sweet  thing  to  go  to  prison,  by  run- 
ning in  debt  to  this  wench  ? " 

Thus  we  see  that,  in  the  Prince's 
mind,  the  consequences  of  evil-doing  are 
always  present,  and  he  toys  with  evil  and 
evil-doers  without  actually  becoming  one 
of  them.  Toys,  did  I  say  ?  Nay,  not 
so ;  he  thus  plainly  intimates  to  Falstaff 
that  evil-doing  leads  to  the  most  dire  and 
disgraceful  consequences ;  which  agrees 
perfectly  with  the  conduct  of  the  Poet 
himself;  for  we  find  that  he  avoided  the 

4 


5o 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


disgraceful  deeds  and  wretched  dissipa- 
tion of  most  of  the  other  dramatists  of 
his  time.  Let  any  one  who  knows  some- 
thing- of  the  lives  of  Marlowe,  Greene, 
Peele,  and  the  rest,  as  well  as  of  the  life 
of  the  Poet,  compare  their  wild  and  reck- 
less careers  with  that  of  the  wise,  pru- 
dent and  gentle  Shakespeare — his  thrift 
in  his  profession,  his  care  to  live  on  an 
independent  footing,  his  noble  friends 
and  associates,  his  kindness  to  Ben  Jon- 
son,  his  generosity  toward  his  father — 
and  then  say  if  he  did  not,  like  the 
Prince,  and  unlike  them,  have  a  horror  of 
the  "buff  jerkin"  and  the  "most  sweet 
robe  of  durance ! " 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  5  1 


CHAPTER  V. 

ANOTHER    VIEW    OF    THE    POET    IN    THE 
PRINCE. 

THE  Prince  next  appears  in  the 
Gadshill  robbery  scene,  and  after 
Falstaff  and  the  rest  attack  and  despoil 
the  travellers,  he  and  Poins  attack  and 
despoil  the  thieves,  and  in  high  good 
humor  speed  away  for  London. 

Prince.     Got  with  much   ease.     Now  merrily  to 
horse  : 
The  thieves  are  scattered,  and  possessed  with  fear 
So  strongly,  that  they  dare  not  meet  each  other ; 
Each  takes  his  fellow  for  an  officer. 
Away,  good  Ned  !     Falstaff  sweats  to  death, 
And  lards  the  lean  earth  as  he  walks  along : 
Wer't  not  for  laughing,  I  should  pity  him. 

I'oins.     How  the  rogue  roared  ! 

Now  comes  a  scene  which  is  more  char- 
acteristic of  Shakespeare  than  almost 
anything  in  the  play.  It  is  the  scene 
between  the  Prince  and  Francis  the  pot- 


52 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


boy,  just  before  the  re-entrance  of  Falstaff 
with  his  hacked  sword  and  blood-stained 
garments.  One  word  before  presenting 
this  scene.  The  patience  and  gentle  in- 
dulgence which  Shakespeare  showed  to 
the  common  people  of  his  acquaintance 
is  proved  by  the  fact  that  he  was  loved 
by  all  who  knew  him.  He  listened  with 
patience  and  interest  to  the  talk  of  the 
poorest  parrot  of  a  man,  and  took  care 
not  to  hurt  him.  "  He  was  too  wise  not 
to  know,"  says  Walter  Bagehot,  "  that 
for  most  of  the  purposes  of  human  life, 
stupidity  is  a  most  valuable  element. 
He  had  nothing  of  the  impatience  which 
sharp,  logical,  narrow  minds  habitually 
feel  when  they  come  across  those  who 
do  not  apprehend  their  quick  and  pre- 
cise deductions.  No  doubt  he  talked 
to  the  stupid  players,  to  the  stupid  door- 
keeper, to  the  property  man,  who  con- 
siders paste  jewels  '  very  preferable,  be- 
sides the  expense,' — talked  with  the  stu- 
pid apprentices  of  stupid  Fleet  Street, 
and  had  much  pleasure  in  ascertaining 
what   was   their    notion    of  King  Lear." 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  5  3 

Now,  bearing  this  in  mind,  and  recollect- 
ing- his  delightful  and  loving  delineation 
of  that  prince  of  blockheads,  Dogberry, 
let  the  reader  peruse  carefully  the  fol- 
lowing scene,  and  say  if  the  Prince  is  not 
Shakespeare  himself.  Let  him  espe- 
cially observe  his  statement  at  the  open- 
ing, that  he  had  been  "with  three  or  four 
loggerheads,  had  sounded  the  very  base 
string  of  humility,  and  could  call  them  all 
by  their  Christian  names."  Let  him  rec- 
ollect that  the  Boar's-Head  Tavern  was 
very  near  the  Blackfriar's  Play-house,  and 
that  it  was  in  fact  a  known  resort  of 
Shakespeare  and  his  companions. 

Eastcheap.     A  Room  in  the  Boar's-Head  Tavern. 
Enter  Prince  Henry  and  Poins. 

Prince.  Ned,  pr'ythee,  come  out  of  that  fat  room 
and  lend  me  thy  hand  to  laugh  a  little. 

Poins.     Where  hast  been,  Hal  ? 

Prince.  With  three  or  four  loggerheads,  amongst 
three  or  four-score  hogsheads.  I  have  sounded  the 
very  base  string  of  humility.  Sirrah,  I  am  sworn 
brother  to  a  leash  of  drawers,  and  can  call  them  all 
by  their  Christian  names,  as — Tom,  Dick  and  Fran- 
cis. They  take  it  already  upon  their  salvation,  that 
though  I  be  but  prince  of  Wales,  yet  I  am  the  king 


c4  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

of  courtesy,  and  tell  me  flatly  I  am  no  proud  Jack, 
like  Falstaff,  but  a  Corinthian,  a  lad  of  mettle,  a 
good  boy  (by  the  Lord  so  they  call  me)  ;  and  when 
I  am  king  of  England,  I  shall  command  all  the  good 
lads  of  Eastcheap.  They  call  drinking  deep,  dying 
scarlet;  and  when  you  breathe  in  your  water- 
ing, they  cry  hem !  and  bid  you  play  it  off. — To 
conclude,  I  am  so  good  a  proficient  in  one  quar- 
ter of  an  hour,  that  I  can  drink  with  any  tinker  in 
his  own  language  during  my  life.  I  tell  thee,  Ned, 
thou  hast  lost  much  honor  that  thou  wert  not  with 
me  in  this  action.  But,  sweet  Ned, — to  sweeten 
which  name  of  Ned,  I  give  thee  this  pennyworth  of 
sugar,  clapped  even  now  in  my  hand  by  an  under- 
skinker  [taj>stcr] ;  one  that  never  spake  other  Eng- 
lish in  his  life  than—"  Eight  shillings  and  sixpence," 
and — "You  are  welcome  ;  "  with  this  shrill  addition 
— "  Anon,  anon,  sir !  Score  a  pint  of  bastard  in  the 
Half-moon,"  or  so.  But,  Ned,  to  drive  away  the 
time  till  Falstaff  come,  I  pr'ythee,  do  thou  stand  in 
some  by-room,  while  I  question  my  puny  drawer  to 
what  end  he  gave  me  the  sugar ;  and  do  thou  never 
leave  calling— Francis  !  that  his  tale  to  me  may  be 
nothing  but— Anon  !  Step  aside,  and  I'll  show  thee 
a  precedent. 

Poins.     Francis ! 

Prince.     Thou  art  perfect. 

Poins.     Francis  !  [Exit  Poins. 

Enter  Francis. 

Fran.     Anon,   anon,    sir.     Look    down    into    the 
Pomegranate,  Ralph. 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


55 


Prince.     Come  hither,  Francis. 

Fran.     My  lord. 

Pri?ice.     How  long  hast  thou  to  serve,  Francis  ? 

Fran.     Forsooth,  five  year,  and  as  much  as  to — 

Poins.     [  Within.]  Francis  ! 

Fran.      Anon,  anon,  sir. 

Prince.  Five  years!  by'r  lady,  a  long  lease  for 
the  clinking  of  pewter.  But,  Francis,  darest  thou 
be  so  valiant  as  to  play  the  coward  with  thy  inden- 
ture, and  to  show  it  a  fair  pair  of  heels,  and  run 
from  it  ? 

Fran.  O  Lord,  sir !  I'll  be  sworn  upon  all  the 
books  in  England,  I  could  find  in  my  heart — 

Poins.     [  Within!]   Francis  ! 

Fran.       Anon,  anon,  sir. 

Prince.     How  old  art  thou,  Francis  ? 

Fran.  Let  me  see, — about  Michaelmas  next  I 
shall  be — 

Poins.     [  Within!]  Francis  ! 

Fran.  Anon,  sin — Pray  you,  stay  a  little,  my 
lord. 

Prince.  Nay,  but  hark  you,  Francis.  For  the 
sugar  thou  gavest  me, — 'twas  a  pennyworth,  was't 
not? 

Fran.     O  Lord,  sir,  I  would  it  had  been  two. 

Prince.  I  will  give  thee  for  it  a  thousand  pound  : 
ask  me  when  thou  wilt,  and  thou  shalt  have  it. 

Poins.     [  Within!]     Francis ! 

Fran.     Anon,  anon. 

Prince.  Anon,    Francis?      No,    Francis;   but   to- 


$6  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

morrow,  Francis  ;  or,  Francis,  on  Thursday ;  or,  in- 
deed, Francis,  when  thou  wilt.     But,   Francis, — 

Fran.     My  lord  ? 

Prince.  Wilt  thou  rob  this  leathern- jerkin, 
crystal-button,  nott-pated,  agate-ring,  puke-stock- 
ing, caddis-garter,  smooth-tongue,  Spanish  pouch, — 

Fran.     O  Lord,  sir !  who  do  you  mean  ? 

Prince.  Why,  then,  your  brown  bastard  is  your 
only  drink  ;  for,  look  you,  your  white  canvas  doub- 
let will  sully.  In  Barbary,  sir,  it  cannot  come  to  so 
much. 

Fran.     What,  sir  ? 

Poins.     [  Within.']     Francis ! 

Prince.  Away,  you  rogue  !  Dost  not  thou  hear 
them  call  ? 

[Here  they  both  call  him ;  the  drawer  stands  amazed, 
not  knowing  ivhich  way  to  go. 
Enter  Vintner. 

Vint.  What  !  standest  thou  still,  and  hear'st  such 
a  calling  ?  Look  to  the  guests  within.  [Exit  Fran.] 
My  lord,  old  Sir  John,  with  half  a  dozen  more,  are  at 
the  door  ;  shall  I  let  them  in  ? 

Prince.     Let  them   alone   awhile,  and  then  open 
the  door.     [Exit  Vintner.]     Poins  ! 
Re-enter  Poins. 

Poins.     Anon,  anon,  sir. 

Prince.  Sirrah,  Falstaff  and  the  rest  of  the 
thieves  are  at  the  door  ;    shall  we  be  merry  ? 

Poins.  As  merry  as  crickets,  my  lad.  But  hark 
ye  :  what  cunning  match  have  you  made  with  this 
jest  of  the  drawer  ?     Come,  what's  the  issue  ? 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


57 


Prince.  I  am  now  of  all  humors,  that  have 
showed  themselves  humors,  since  the  old  days  of 
goodman  Adam,  to  the  pupil  age  of  this  twelve 
o'clock  at  midnight. 

Re-enter  Francis  with  wine. 
What's  o'clock,  Francis  ? 

Fran.     Anon,  anon,  sir.  [Exit. 

Prince.  That  ever  this  fellow  should  have  fewer 
words  than  a  parrot,  and  yet  the  son  of  a  woman. 
His  industry  is — up-stairs,  and  down-stairs  ;  his  elo- 
quence, the  parcel  of  a  reckoning.  I  am  not  yet  of 
Percy's  mind,  the  Hotspur  of  the  North  ;  he  that 
kills  me  some  six  or  seven  dozen  Scots  at  a  break- 
fast, washes  his  hands,  and  says  to  his  wife, — "  Fie 
upon  this  quiet  life !  I  want  work."  "  O  my 
sweet  Harry,"  says  she,  "  how  many  hast  thou 
killed  to-day  ?  "  "  Give  my  roan  horse  a  drench," 
says  he  ;  and  answers,  "  Some  fourteen,"  an  hour 
after  ;  "  a  trifle,  a  trifle."  I  pr'ythee,  call  in  Fal- 
staff.  I'll  play  Percy,  and  that  damned  brawn 
shall  play  Dame  Mortimer,  his  wife.  "  Rivo  !  "  says 
the  drunkard.     Call  in  ribs,  call  in  tallow. 

I  should  not  be  surprised  if  the  Poet 
and  one  of  his  professional  chums  had, 
on  some  occasion,  played  this  very  trick 
on  the  drawer  of  the  Blackfriar's  or  the 
Boar's-Head  Tavern.  Nothing  is  more 
likely.  It  looks,  for  all  the  world,  like 
one  of  the  practical   jokes  which  he  and 


58 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


Burbage  are  said  to  have  played  togeth- 
er ;  such  as  have  often  since  been  played 
by  Brougham,  by  Sothern  and  by  other 
dramatic  celebrities  of  our  time. 

This  point  of  familiarity  with  the  peo- 
ple, of  kindly  and  appreciative  associa- 
tion with  the  humblest  sort  of  people, 
is  a  prime  characteristic  of  Shakespeare. 
What  a  marvellous  revelation  of  this  trait 
is  shown,  in  making  the  Prince  become 
so  familiar  with  a  tapster  as  to  allow  him 
to  present  him  with  a  lump  of  sugar  !  Is 
not  this  Shakespeare  ?  Is  not  this  the 
man  who  knew  all  classes  of  men  so  in- 
timately ?  Mr.  Walter  Bagehot,  in  his 
excellent  Essay  on  "  Shakespeare,  the 
Man,"  has  some  very  wise  remarks  on 
this  head.  After  showing  the  striking 
resemblance  between  Shakespeare  and 
Scott  in  their  love  of  the  common  peo- 
ple, and  the  equally  striking  dissimilar- 
ity, in  this  respect,  of  Goethe  to  both  of 
them,  he  says:  "If  you  will  describe  the 
people,  nay,  if  you  will  write  for  the  peo- 
ple, you  must  be  one  of  the  people. 
You  must  have  led  their  life,   and  must 


FOR  TEA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF. 


59 


wish  to  lead  their  life Any  at- 
tempt to  produce  a  likeness  of  what  is 
not  really  liked  by  the  person  who  is  at- 
tempting it,  will  end  in  the  creation  of 
what  may  be  correct,  but  is  not  living — 
of  what  may  be  artistic,  but  is  likewise 
artificial."  Was  it  not  thus  that  Shake- 
speare succeeded  in  portraying  men  so 
well  ?  He  liked  the  people,  and  could 
associate  familiarly  with  the  commonest 
among  them. 

Consider  for  a  moment  the  dramatic 
presentation  of  Egmont  and  Clarchen 
as  compared  with  that  of  Brutus  and 
Portia,  or  of  Hotspur  and  Lady  Percy. 
The  popular  hero,  the  successful  gen- 
eral, the  idol  of  a  nation,  high-spirited 
Egmont,  is  travestied  by  Goethe  into 
something  marvellously  like  himself,  a 
heartless  deceiver  of  young  women ! 
With  him  the  people  were  mere  ciphers 
to  work  out  literary  or  scientific  prob- 
lems ;  the  means  of  ministering  to  the 
desires  and  the  pleasures  of  the  rich  and 
gifted  ;  and  while  his  countrymen  were 
engaged    in    a    death-struggle    for    their 


6o  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

very  existence  as  a  people,  he  could 
amuse  himself  by  making  chemical  ex- 
periments on  their  bones  in  the  grave- 
yards ! 

Scott,  who  was  fond  of  associating  fa- 
miliarly with  the  common  people,  and 
noting  their  ways  and  thoughts,  was 
heartily  loved  by  them  ;  and  we  know 
that  Shakespeare  was  loved  by  all  who 
knew  him.  One  of  Scott's  striking  re- 
marks is,  that  he  "had  heard  higher 
sentiments  from  his  poor  uneducated 
neighbors  than  he  had  ever  met  with 
outside  of  the  pages  of  the  Bible."  He 
knew  how  to  make  the  poor  and  humble 
feel  at  home  with  him,  how  to  make  them 
show  their  inner  selves ;  and  he  knew 
how  to  reproduce  their  rude  but  signifi- 
cant ways  of  expressing  their  thoughts. 
He  had  always  a  smile,  a  kind  word,  and 
a  pinch  of  snuff  for  every  laboring  man 
of  his  acquaintance  whom  he  met,  and 
chatted  with  him  as  pleasantly  as  if  he 
were  his  friend.  When  he  visited  one  of 
his  titled  friends,  he  was  likely  to  be- 
come as   familiar  with   the  coachman  of 


FOR  TEA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  ft  l 

his  host  as  with  the  host  himself ;  and 
there  was  not  a  dog  in  the  household  on 
whom  he  did  not  cast  a  smile  of  kindly 
interest.  In  his  own  country,  he  was  so 
much  loved  by  the  people,  that  there  was 
not  a  house  on  the  Border  in  which  he 
was  not  heartily  welcome.  "  Sir  Walter 
speaks  to  every  man  as  if  he  were  his 
blood  relation,"  was  the  expressive  re- 
mark of  one  of  his  dependants. 

Goethe,  on  the  other  hand,  kept  aloof 
from  the  people ;  he  was  not  one  of  them, 
and  never  wanted  to  be  ;  he  was  essen- 
tially an  aristocrat  in  feeling-,  and  had 
little  sympathy  for  the  ways  and  habits 
of  the  common  people ;  consequently, 
neither  his  language  nor  his  thoughts  are 
theirs  ;  in  fact,  he  wrote  in  a  language 
which  the  common  people  of  his  day  no 
more  understood  than  if  it  were  Greek, 
and  which  is  Greek  to  some  of  the  most 
intelligent  among  them  to-day.  He  was, 
in  truth,  essentially  Greek  in  his  nature 
and  culture ;  a  lover  of  beauty  of  the 
ideal,  aesthetic  sort ;  a  student  of  pure 
science  for  the  sake  of  truth  alone ;   not 


g2  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

a  lover  of  mankind  as  they  are  ;  and  he 
is  accordingly  read  and  appreciated  by 
studied  people,  by  scholars  and  the  uni- 
versity-bred generally ;  who,  it  must  be 
remembered,  are  by  no  means  the  best 
judges  of  literature.  Scott,  like  Shake- 
speare, abounds  in  characters  drawn  from 
the  common  people,  characters  whom  he 
loved,  real  living  characters,  who  are 
known,  remembered,  and  cherished  by  all 
who  make  their  acquaintance.  Goethe 
has  not  one  such  character,  and  neither 
he  nor  any  character  he  created  is  loved 
by  the  people.  So  that,  having  no  sym- 
pathy with  the  common  people,  they 
have  none  with  him,  and  care  nothing 
for  him  or  his  books. 

Shakespeare  not  only  associated  fa- 
miliarly with  the  common  people,  and 
noted  with  interest  their  habits,  their 
ways,  and  their  thoughts,  but  having 
sprung  from  them  himself,  he  always 
found  himself  at  home  amone  them. 
And  when  he  became  a  writer  for  the 
stage,  he  obviously  kept  up  his  familiar 
relations    with    them ;   he    so    demeaned 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


63 


himself  as  to  make  them  feel  at  home 
with  him,  and  thus  enjoyed  the  full  fla- 
vor of  their  life  and  conversation.  Now 
this  is  precisely  the  conduct  of  the  Prince. 
He  puts  himself  on  a  level  with  the  low- 
est of  the  people,  calls  them  familiarly 
Tom,  Dick,  and  Francis,  and  is  so  loved 
by  them  that  they  will  fight  to  the  death 
for  him.  They  "  tell  him  flatly  he  is  no 
proud  Jack  like  Falstaff,"  and  that  "  when 
he  is  king  of  England  he  shall  command 
all  the  good  lads  in  Eastcheap."  One 
of  them,  a  poor  tapster,  even  comes 
and  gives  him  a  piece  of  sugar  by  way 
of  a  present !  Could  any  great  man  be 
more  tenderly  loved  by  the  common 
people  than  this  ?  To  make  a  Prince 
become  "  sworn  brother  to  a  leash  of 
drawers,"  and  such  a  proficient  in  the 
language  of  the  vulvar  as  to  be  able 
to  "drink  with  any  tinker  in  his  own 
language,"  would,  in  the  hands  of  any 
other  writer,  probably  turn  out  a  shock- 
ing and  degrading  spectacle  ;  but  in 
Shakespeare's  hands  it  is  quite  natural, 
because  it  is  just  what   Shakespeare  did 


64 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


himself,  and  which  he  found  in  no  way 
degrading.  There  was  hardly  any  sphere 
of  life  with  which  he  was  not  acquainted, 
and  probably  few  with  which  his  ac- 
quaintance was  not  personal.  So  that 
he  could  not  only  "drink  with  any  tinker 
in  his  own  language,"  but  associate  with 
the  noblest  man  in  England  on  his  own 
footing,  and  outdo  him  in  nobility  of  be- 
havior, language,  and  thought.  Indeed, 
Davies,  who  probably  knew  him  per- 
sonally, has,  in  his  "  Scourge  of  Folly," 
published  in  1611,  this  excellent  epigram 
on  him  : 

Some  say,  good  Will,  which  I  in  sport  do  sing, 
Hadst  thou  not  played  some  kingly  parts  in  sport, 

Thou  hadst  been  a  companion  for  a  king, 
And  been  a  king  among  the  meaner  sort. 

He  seems  to  have  been  especially  fond 
of  a  genial,  witty,  and  open-hearted  com- 
panion. He  was  doubtless  as  fond  of 
FalstafT  as  Falstaff  was  of  him  ;  for  he 
preferred  laughter  to  tears,  and  probably 
no  man  enjoyed  a  good  joke  better  than 
he.     "In  no  point  does  Shakespeare  ex- 


POR TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  6$ 

aggerate,"  says  Carlyle,  "but  only  in 
laughter.  His  laughter  seems  to  pour 
from  him  in  floods."  This  is  the  charm 
that  the  Prince  finds  in  Falstaff :  this  is 
the  spell  by  which  he  holds  him  :  he 
could  make  him  "  laugh  till  his  face  was 
like  a  wet  cloak  ill  laid  up  !"  "When  a 
man  has  created  such  a  character  as 
Falstaff,"  says  Bagehot,  "without  a  ca- 
pacity for  laughter,  then  a  blind  man 
may  succeed  in  describing  colors.  In- 
tense animal  spirits  are  the  single  sen- 
timent— if  they  be  a  sentiment — of  the 
entire  character.  If  most  men  were  to 
save  up  all  the  gayety  of  their  whole 
lives,  it  would  come  to  about  the  gay- 
ety of  one  speech  in  Falstaff.  A  morose 
man  might  have  amassed  many  jokes, 
might  have  observed  many  details  of 
jovial  society,  might  have  conceived  a 
Sir  John,  marked  by  rotundity  of  body  ; 
but  could  hardly  have  imagined  what  we 
call  his  rotundity  of  mind." 

Thus,     then,    this    point     is,    I     think, 
pretty  clearly  made  out  :  that  the  Prince, 
loving  wit  and  humor  wherever  he  found 
5 


66  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

them,  or  curiously  observing  dulness  and 
stupidity,  was  fond  of  mingling  familiarly 
with  the  people,  and  talking  freely  and 
easily  with  them  ;  and  in  this  the  Poet 
simply  presented  in  the  Prince  a  faithful 
portrait  of  himself.* 

*  While  this  work  is  passing  through  the  press,  I  have  had 
a  glance  at  Mr.  Donnelly's  long-promised  book,  "  The  Great 
Cryptogram."  Will  the  reader  believe  his  own  eyes,  when  I 
tell  him,  that  Mr.  Donnelly  gravely  maintains,  that  because 
Falstaff,  in  the  robbery  scene,  exclaims,  "  On,  bacons,  on ! " 
and  the  name  Francis  is,  in  the  scene  between  the  Prince  and 
the  pot-boy,  repeated  twenty  times,  Francis  Bacon  must  have 
written  the  plays !  Surely  this  is  profundity  beyond  example. 
Shakespearean  criticism  with  a  vengeance  !  I  think  this  dis- 
covery is  about  as  good  as  that  of  the  man  who  said  he  knew 
who  had  written  Shakespeare's  plays ;  he  had  seen  the  name 
at  the  end  of  the  book  ;  his  name  was  "  Finis  "  ! 

I  shall  have  something  to  say  of  this  Donnelly  business  in 
a  subsequent  chapter. 


POKTRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF. 


67 


CHAPTER  VI. 


•  > 


LOOK     HERE     UPON     THIS     PICTURE,     AND 


THEN    OX    THIS 


H 


ERE  is  another  conversation  be- 
tween the  Prince  and  Poins,  which, 
if  it  do  not  show  the  former  as  a  man  of 
the  people,  familiar  with  the  ways  and 
thoughts  of  the  people,  loving  the  com- 
mon things  of  the  people,  even  "  small 
beer,"  and,  notwithstanding  his  rank,  en- 
joying to  the  full  all  the  common  pleas- 
ures of  the  people,  then  is  there  no  such 
man  in  literature.  There  is  something, 
indeed,  so  quietly  like  the  man  Shake- 
speare all  over  this  scene,  that  it  mightily 
fortifies  my  supposition  that  the  Poet 
simply  drew  his  own  in  the  character  of 
the  Prince  : 

SCENE    II.    London  :     A   street. 
Enter  Prince  Henry  and  Poins. 
Prince.     Trust  me,  I  am  exceeding  weary. 


68  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

Poins.  Is  it  come  to  that  ?  I  had  thought  weari- 
ness durst  not  have  attached  one  of  so  high  blood. 

Prince.  'Faith  it  does  me,  though  it  discolors  the 
complexion  of  my  greatness  to  acknowledge  it. 
Doth  it  not  show  vilely  in  me  to  desire  small  beer  ? 

Poins.  Why,  a  prince  should  not  be  so  loosely 
studied,  as  to  remember  so  weak  a  composition. 

Prince.  Belike,  then,  my  appetite  was  not 
princely  got ;  for,  by  my  troth,  I  do  now  remember 
the  poor  creature,  small  beer.  But,  indeed,  these 
humble  considerations  make  me  out  of  love  with  my 
greatness.  What  a  disgrace  it  is  to  me  to  remem- 
ber thy  name  ?  or  to  know  thy  face  to-morrow  ?  or 
to  take  note  how  many  pair  of  silk  stockings  thou 
hast;  namely,  these,  and  those  that  were  thy  peach- 
colored  ones  ?  or  to  bear  the  inventory  of  thy  shirts : 
as,  one  for  superfluity,  and  one  other  for  use  ? — but 
that  the  tennis-court  keeper  knows  better  than  I, 
for  it  is  a  low  ebb  of  linen  with  thee,  when  thou 
keep'st  not  racket  there  ;  as  thou  hast  not  done  a 
great  while,  because  the  rest  of  thy  low-countries 
have  made  a  shift  to  eat  up  thy  holland  ;  and  God 
knows  whether  those  that  bawl  out  the  ruins  of  thy 
linen  shall  inherit  His  kingdom  ;  but  the  midwives 
say,  the  children  are  not  in  the  fault,  whereupon 
the  world  increases,  and  kindreds  are  mightily 
strengthened. 

Poins.  How  ill  it  follows,  after  you  have  labored 
so  hard,  you  should  talk  so  idly  ! — Tell  me,  how 
many  good  young  princes  would  do  so,  their  fathers 
being  so  sick  as  yours  at  this  time  is  ? 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF. 


69 


Prince.     Shall  I  tell  thee  one  thing,  Poins  ? 

Poins.  Yes,  faith  ;  and  let  it  be  an  excellent  good 
thing. 

Prince.  It  shall  serve  among  wits  of  no  higher 
breeding  than  thine. 

Poins.  Go  to ;  I  stand  the  push  of  your  one 
thing  that  you  will  tell. 

Prince.  Marry,  I  tell  thee, — it  is  not  meet  that  I 
should  be  sad,  now  my  father  is  sick  ;  albeit  I  could 
tell  to  thee  (as  to  one  it  pleases  me,  for  fault  of  a 
better,  to  call  my  friend),  I  could  be  sad,  and  sad 
indeed  too. 

Poins.     Very  hardly,  upon  such  a  subject. 

Prince.  By  this  hand,  thou  think'st  me  as  far  in 
the  devil's  book  as  thou  and  Falstaff,  for  obduracy 
and  persistency.  Let  the  end  try  the  man.  But  I 
tell  thee,  my  heart  bleeds  inwardly  that  my  father  is 
so  sick ;  and  keeping  such  vile  company  as  thou  art 
hath  in  reason  taken  from  me  all  ostentation  of 
sorrow. 

Poins.     The  reason  ? 

Prince.  What  would'st  thou  think  of  me  if  I 
should  weep  ? 

Poins.  I  would  think  thee  a  most  princely  hypo- 
crite. 

Prince.  It  would  be  every  man's  thought ;  and 
thou  art  a  blessed  fellow  to  think  as  every  man 
thinks.  Never  a  man's  thought  in  the  world  keeps 
the  roadway  better  than  thine  :  every  man  would 
think  me  a  hypocrite  indeed.  And  what  accites 
your  most  worshipful  thought  to  think  so  ? 


7o 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


Poins.  Why,  because  you  have  been  so  lewd, 
and  so  much  engrafted  to  Falstaff. 

Prince.     And  to  thee. 

Poms.  By  this  light,  I  am  well  spoken  of  :  I  can 
hear  it  with  my  own  ears.  The  worst  that  they 
can  say  of  me  is,  that  I  am  a  second  brother,  and 
that  I  am  a  proper  fellow  of  my  hands  ;  and  those 
two  things  I  confess  I  cannot  help. — By  the  mass, 
here  comes  Bardolph. 

"Let  the  end  try  the  man!"  That's 
it :  the  Prince  is,  even  in  the  play,  no 
actual  rake  and  debauchee,  but  a  wise, 
witty,  thoughtful  man  ;  charmed,  it  is 
true,  by  the  wit  and  humor  of  the  most 
fascinating  of  loose  companions,  and  en- 
joying for  a  season  the  mirth,  jollity,  and 
high  spirits  of  a  riotous  company  ;  but 
not  in  spirit  one  of  them.  He  loves 
what  is  good  in  them,  but  despises  their 
vices.  It  is  plain  that  his  companions 
mistake  him  ;  they  think  him  as  bad  as 
themselves ;  for  Poins  obviously  thinks 
him  so  devoid  of  natural  affection  as  to 
be  capable  of  joy  at  the  news  of  his 
father's  death.  But  he  is  mistaken  ;  the 
Prince  is  quite  a  different  man.  He  is  by 
no  means  "so  far  in  the  devil's  book"  as 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


71 


they  are  ;  and  he  comes  out  in  the  sequel, 
as  the  original  did,  unscathed,  and  all  the 
wiser  for  his  experience  among  them. 
If  he  were  an  abandoned  rake,  how  could 
he  be  made  to  act  and  think  so  wisely 
when  away  from  them  ?  how  could  he 
encounter  and  conquer  that  prince  of 
warriors,  Hotspur?  and  if  he  were  not  of 
a  generous  heart  and  philosophic  mind, 
how  could  he  be  made  to  pronounce  such 
a  noble  speech  over  the  dead  body  of 
this  his  conquered  enemy? — 

Fare  thee  well,  great  heart ! — 
Ill-weaved  ambition,  how  much  art  thou  shrunk ! 
When  that  this  body  did  contain  a  spirit, 
A  kingdom  for  it  was  too  small  a  bound ; 
But  now,  two  paces  of  the  vilest  earth 
Is  room  enough.     This  earth,  that  bears  thee  dead, 
Bears  not  alive  so  brave  a  gentleman. 
If  thou  wert  sensible  of  courtesy, 
I  should  not  make  so  dear  a  show  of  zeal ; 
but  let  my  favors  hide  thy  mangled  face  ; 
And  even  in  thy  behalf,  I'll  thank  myself 
For  doing  these  fair  rites  of  tenderness. 
Adieu,  and  take  thy  praise  with  thee  to  heaven  ! 
Thy  ignominy  sleep  with  thee  in  the  grave, 
but  not  remembered  in  thy  epitaph  ! 


72 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


Is  there  not  a  touch  of  Hamlet  in  this 
speech  ?  Could  the  philosophic  Dane 
have  uttered  more  generous,  thoughtful 
words  ?  O  how  sincerely,  how  fervently 
we  could  apply  these  last  lines  to  the 
Prince  himself ! 


PORTRAYED  BY  HIMSELF. 


73 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE     MERRY     MEETING THE      DEER-STEAL- 
ING  ADVENTURE. 

NOW  comes  the  famous  scene  after 
the  robbery,  a  scene  which,  besides 
being  crammed  with  wit,  humor,  and 
jollity,  gives  such  a  vivid  picture  of  the 
character  whom  we  are  endeavoring  to 
identify  with  that  of  the  Poet,  that  he 
who  has  read  it  a  hundred  times  may 
well  afford,  in  this  new  light,  to  read  it 
again.  Indeed,  I  trust  that  every  one 
who  reads  this  essay  will  henceforth  read 
the  entire  play  with  much  more  insight, 
much  more  pleasure  and  satisfaction  than 
he  ever  read  it  before. 

Passing  Falstaff's  extraordinary  account 
of  his  bravery,  let  me  quote  the  conclud- 
ing part  of  this  marvellously  interesting 
scene  : 


74 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


Prince.  Well,  breathe  awhile,  and  then  to  it 
again ;  and  when  thou  hast  tired  thyself  in  base 
comparisons,  hear  me  speak  but  this. 

Poins.     Mark,  Jack. 

Prince.  We  two  saw  you  four  set  on  four ;  you 
bound  them,  and  were  masters  of  their  wealth. — 
Mark  now,  how  a  plain  tale  shall  put  you  down. — 
Then  did  we  two  set  on  you  four:  and,  with  a 
word,  out-faced  you  from  your  prize,  and  have  it; 
yea,  and  can  show  it  you  here  in  the  house  : — And 
Falstaff,  you  carried  your  guts  away  as  nimbly,  with 
as  quick  dexterity,  and  roared  for  mercy,  and  still 
ran  and  roared,  as  ever  I  heard  bull-calf.  What 
a  slave  art  thou,  to  hack  thy  sword  as  thou  hast 
clone  ;  and  then  say,  it  was  in  fight !  What  trick, 
what  device,  what  starting-hole,  canst  thou  now  find 
out,  to  hide  thee  from  this  open  and  apparent 
shame  ? 

Poins.  Come,  let's  hear,  Jack  :  what  trick  hast 
thou  now  ? 

Pal.  By  the  Lord,  I  knew  ye,  as  well  as  He  that 
made  ye.  Why,  hear  ye,  my  masters  :  Was  it  for 
me  to  kill  the  heir-apparent  ?  Should  I  turn  upon 
the  true  prince  ?  Why,  thou  knowest,  I  am  as  val- 
iant as  Hercules ;  but  beware  instinct :  the  lion 
will  not  touch  the  true  prince.  Instinct  is  a  great 
matter  ;  I  was  a  coward  on  instinct.  I  shall  think 
the  better  of  myself  and  thee,  during  my  life  :  I 
for  a  valiant  lion,  and  thou  for  a  true  prince.  But, 
by  the  Lord,  lads,  I  am  glad  you  have  the  money. 
—Hostess,    clap    to    the    doors ;     watch    to-night, 


PORTRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF. 


7$ 


pray  to-morrow. — Gallants,  lads,  boys,  hearts  of 
gold,  all  the  titles  of  good  fellowship  come  to  you ! 
What,  shall  we  be  merry  ?  shall  we  have  a  play 
extempore  ? 

Prince.  Content ; — and  the  argument  shall  be 
thy  running  away. 

Fal.  Ah  !  no  more  of  that,  Hal,  an  thou  loves t 
me. 

Enter  Hostess. 

Host.     My  lord  the  prince, — 

Prinee.  How  now,  my  lady  the  hostess  ?  what 
say'st  thou  to  me  ? 

Host.  Marry,  my  lord,  there  is  a  nobleman  of 
the  court  at  door  would  speak  with  you  :  he  says, 
he  comes  from  your  father. 

Prince.  Give  him  as  much  as  will  make  him  a 
royal  man,  and  send  him  back  again  to  my  mother. 

Fal.     What  manner  of  man  is  he  ? 

Host.     An  old  man. 

Fal.  What  doth  gravity  out  of  his  bed  at  mid- 
night ? — Shall  I  give  him  his  answer  ? 

Prince.     Pr'ythee,  do,  Jack. 

Fal.     'Faith,  and  I'll  send  him  packing.        [Exit. 

J'rince.  Now,  sirs ;  by'r  lady,  you  fought  fair  ; — 
so  did  you,  Peto ;  so  did  you,  Bardolph  :  you  are 
lions  too,  you  ran  away  upon  instinct,  you  will  not 
touch  the  true  prince  •,  no, — fye  ! 

Bard.     'Faith,  I  ran  when  I  saw  others  run. 

Prince.  Tell  me  now  in  earnest,  how  came  Fal- 
staff' s  sword  so  hacked  ? 

Peto.     Why,  he   hacked  it  with  his  dagger;  and 


76 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


said  he  would  swear  truth  out  of  England,  but  he 
would  make  you  believe  it  was  done  in  fight ;  and 
persuaded  us  to  do  the  like. 

Bard.  Yea,  and  to  tickle  our  noses  with  spear- 
grass  to  make  them  bleed  :  and  then  to  beslubber 
our  garments  with  it,  and  to  swear  it  was  the  blood 
of  true  men.  I  did  that  I  did  not  this  seven  year 
before  ;   I  blushed  to  hear  his  monstrous  devices. 

Prince.  O,  villain,  thou  stolest  a  cup  of  sack 
eighteen  years  ago,  and  wert  taken  with  the  man- 
ner, and  ever  since  thou  hast  blushed  extempore  ! 
Thou  hadst  fire  and  sword  on  thy  side,  and  yet  thou 
ran'st  away.    What  instinct  hadst  thou  for  it  ? 

Bard.  My  lord,  do  you  see  these  meteors  ?  do 
you  behold  these  exhalations  ? 

Prince.     I  do. 

Bard.     What  think  you  they  portend  ? 

Prince.     Hot  livers  and  cold  purses. 

Bard.     Choler,  my  lord,  if  rightly  taken. 

Prince.     No,  if  rightly  taken,  halter. 

Re-enter  Falstaff. 

Here  comes  lean  Jack,  here  comes  bare-bone.  How 
now,  my  sweet  creature  of  bombast  ?  How  long 
is't  ago,  Jack,  since  thou  sawest  thine  own  knee  ? 

Pa/.  My  own  knee  ?  when  I  was  about  thy  years, 
Hal,  I  was  not  an  eagle's  talon  in  the  waist ;  I  could 
have  crept  into  any  alderman's  thumb-ring.  A 
plague  of  sighing  and  grief  !  it  blows  a  man  up  like 
a  bladder.  There's  villanous  news  abroad  :  here 
was  Sir  John  Bracy  from  your  father;  you  must  to 


PORTRAYED  BY  HIMSELF. 


77 


the  court  in  the  morning.  That  same  mad  fellow 
of  the  north,  Percy  ;  and  he  of  Wales,  that  gave 
Amaimon  the  bastinado,  and  made  Lucifer  cuck- 
old, and  swore  the  devil  his  true  liegeman  upon  the 
cross  of  a  Welsh  hook, — what,  a  plague,  call  you 
him  ? — 

Poms.     O,  Glen  dower. 

Fal.  Owen,  Owen  ;  the  same  ; — and  his  son-in- 
law,  Mortimer ;  and  old  Northumberland  ;  and  that 
sprightly  Scot  of  Scots,  Douglas,  that  runs  o'horse- 
back  up  a  hill  perpendicular. 

Prince.  He  that  rides  at  high  speed,  and  with 
his  pistol  kills  a  sparrow  flying. 

Fal.     You  have  hit  it. 

Prince.     So  did  he  never  the  sparrow. 

Fal.  Well,  that  rascal  hath  good  mettle  in  him  ; 
he  will  not  run. 

Prince.  Why,  what  a  rascal  art  thou  then,  to 
praise  him  so  for  running  ? 

Fal.  O'horseback,  ye  cuckoo  !  but,  afoot,  he  will 
not  budge  a  foot. 

Prince.     Yes,  Jack,  upon  instinct. 

Fal.  I  grant  ye,  upon  instinct.  Well,  he  is  there 
too,  and  one  Mordake,  and  a  thousand  blue-caps 
more.  Worcester  is  stolen  away  to-night;  thy  fa- 
ther's beard  is  turned  white  with  the  news  :  you 
may  buy  land  now  as  cheap  as  stinking  mackerel. 

Prince.  Why,  then,  'tis  like,  if  there  comes  a  hot 
June,  and  this  civil  buffeting  hold,  we  shall  buy 
maidenheads  as  they  buy  hob-nails,  by  the  hundred. 

Fal.     By  the  mass,   lad,  thou  sayest   true;    it   is 


;s 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


like,  we  shall  have  good  trading  that  way. — But  tell 
me,  Hal,  art  thou  not  horribly  afeard  ?  thou  being 
heir-apparent,  could  the  world  pick  thee  out  three 
such  enemies  again,  as  that  fiend  Douglas,  that 
spirit  Percy,  and  that  devil  Glendower  ?  Art  thou 
not  horribly  afraid  ?  doth  not  thy  blood  thrill  at  it  ? 

Prince.  Not  a  whit,  i 'faith ;  I  lack  some  of  thy 
instinct. 

Fat.  Well,  thou  wilt  be  horribly  chid  to-morrow, 
when  thou  comest  to  thy  father :  if  thou  love  me, 
practise  an  answer. 

Prince.  Do  thou  stand  for  my  father,  and  ex- 
amine me  upon  the  particulars  of  my  life. 

Pal.  Shall  I  ?  content  : — This  chair  shall  be  my 
state,  this  dagger  my  scepter,  and  this  cushion  my 
crown. 

Prince.  Thy  state  is  taken  for  a  joint-stool,  thy 
golden  scepter  for  a  leaden  dagger,  and  thy  precious 
rich  crown,  for  a  pitiful  bald  crown  ! 

Pal.  Well,  an  the  fire  of  grace  be  not  quite  out 
of  thee,  now  shalt  thou  be  moved. — Give  me  a  cup 
of  sack,  to  make  mine  eyes  look  red,  that  it  may  be 
thought  I  have  wept;  for  I  must  speak  in  passion, 
and  I  will  do  it  in  king  Cambyses'  vein. 

Prince.     Well,  here  is  my  leg. 

Pal.  And  here  is  my  speech : — Stand  aside, 
nobility. 

Host.     This  is  excellent  sport,  i'faith. 

Pal.  Weep  not,  sweet  queen,  for  trickling  tears 
are  vain. 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


79 


Host  O,  the  father  !  how  he  holds  his  counte- 
nance ! 

Fal.     For  God's  sake,  lords,  convey  my  tristful 
queen, 
For  tears  do  stop  the  flood-gates  of  her  eyes. 

Host.  O  rare  !  he  doth  it  as  like  one  of  these 
harlotry  players  as  I  ever  see. 

Fal.  Peace,  good  pint-pot ;  peace,  good  tickle- 
brain. — Harry,  I  do  not  only  marvel  where  thou 
spendest  thy  time,  but  also  how  thou  art  accom- 
panied :  for  though  the  camomile,  the  more  it  is 
trodden  on,  the  faster  it  grows,  yet  youth,  the  more 
it  is  wasted,  the  sooner  it  wears.  That  thou  art  my 
son,  I  have  partly  thy  mother's  word,  partly  my  own 
opinion;  but  chiefly,  a  villanous  trick  of  thine  eye, 
and  a  foolish  hanging  of  thy  nether  lip,  that  doth 
warrant  me.  If  then  thou  be  son  to  me,  here  lies 
the  point; — Why,  being  son  to  me,  art  thou  so 
pointed  at?  Shall  the  blessed  sun  of  heaven  prove 
a  micher,  and  eat  blackberries  ?  a  question  not  to 
be  asked.  Shall  the  son  of  England  prove  a  thief, 
and  take  purses  ?  a  question  to  be  asked.  There 
is  a  thing,  Harry,  which  thou  hast  often  heard  of, 
and  it  is  known  to  many  in  our  land  by  the  name 
of  pitch  :  this  pitch,  as  ancient  writers  do  report, 
doth  defile ;  so  doth  the  company  thou  keepest : 
for,  Harry,  now  I  do  not  speak  to  thee  in  drink, 
but  in  tears  ;  not  in  pleasure,  but  in  passion  ;  not 
in  words  only,  but  in  woes  also  ; — And  yet  there  is 
a  virtuous  man,  whom  I  have  often  noted  in  thy 
company,  but  I  know  not  his  name. 


gO  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

Prince.  What  manner  of  man,  an  it  like  your 
majesty  ? 

Fal.  A  goodly  portly  man,  i'faith,  and  a  corpu- 
lent; of  a  cheerful  look,  a  pleasing  eye,  and  a  most 
noble  carriage  ;  and,  as  I  think,  his  age  some  fifty, 
or  by'r-lady,  inclining  to  three-score ;  and  now  I 
remember  me,  his  name  is  Falstaff:  if  that  man 
should  be  lewdly  given,  he  deceiveth  me  ;  for,  Harry, 
I  see  virtue  in  his  looks.  If  then  the  tree  may  be 
known  by  the  fruit,  as  the  fruit  by  the  tree,  then, 
peremptorily  I  speak  it,  there  is  virtue  in  that  Fal- 
staff :  him  keep  with,  the  rest  banish.  And  tell  me 
now,  thou  naughty  varlet,  tell  me,  where  hast  thou 
been  this  month  ? 

Prince.  Dost  thou  speak  like  a  king  ?  Do  thou 
stand  for  me,  and  I'll  play  my  father. 

Fal.  Depose  me  ?  if  thou  dost  it  half  so  gravely, 
so  majestically,  both  in  word  and  matter,  hang  me 
up  by  the  heels  for  a  rabbit-sucker,  or  a  poulter's 
hare. 

Prince.     Well,  here  I  am  set. 

Fal.     And  here  I  stand  : — judge,  my  masters. 

Prince.     Now,  Harry  !  whence  come  you  ? 

Fal.     My  noble  lord,  from  Eastcheap. 

Prince.  The  complaints  I  hear  of  thee  are  griev- 
ous. 

Fal.  'Sblood,  my  lord,  they  are  false  : — nay,  I'll 
tickle  ye  for  a  young  prince,  i'faith. 

Prince.  Swearest  thou,  ungracious  boy  ?  hence- 
forth ne'er  look  pn  me.  Thou  art  violently  carried 
away  from  grace  :  there  is   a   devil  haunts  thee,  in 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  g  x 

the  likeness  of  a  fat  old  man :  a  tun  of  man  is  thy 
companion.  Why  dost  thou  converse  with  that 
trunk  of  humors,  that  bolting-hutch  of  beastliness, 
that  swoln  parcel  of  dropsies,  that  huge  bombard 
of  sack,  that  stuffed  cloak-bag  of  guts,  that  roasted 
Manningtree  ox  with  the  pudding  in  his  belly, 
that  reverend  vice,  that  gray  iniquity,  that  father 
ruffian,  that  vanity  in  years  ?  Wherein  is  he  good, 
but  to  taste  sack  and  drink  it  ?  wherein  neat  and 
cleanly,  but  to  carve  a  capon  and  eat  it  ?  wherein 
cunning,  but  in  craft  ?  wherein  crafty,  but  in  vil- 
lany  ?  wherein  villanous,  but  in  all  things  ?  wherein 
worthy,  but  in  nothing  ? 

Fal.  I  would  your  grace  would  take  me  with 
you  ;  whom  means  your  grace  ? 

Prince.  That  villanous  abominable  misleader  of 
youth,  Falstaff,  that  old  white-bearded  Satan. 

Fal.     My  lord,  the  man  I  know. 

Prince.     I  know  thou  dost. 

Fal.  But  to  say,  I  know  more  harm  in  him  than 
in  myself,  were  to  say  more  than  I  know.  That  he 
is  old  (the  more  the  pity)  his  white  hairs  do  witness 
it :  but  that  he  is  (saving  your  reverence)  a  whore- 
master,  that  I  utterly  deny.  If  sack  and  sugar  be  a 
fault,  God  help  the  wicked  !  If  to  be  old  and  merry 
be  a  sin,  then  many  an  old  host  that  I  know  is 
damned  :  if  to  be  fat  be  to  be  hated,  then  Pharaoh's 
lean  kine  are  to  be  loved.  No,  my  good  lord  ;  ban- 
ish Peto,  banish  Pardolph,  banish  Poins  :  but  for 
sweet  Jack  Falstaff,  kind  Jack  Falstaff,  true  Jack 
Falstaff,  valiant  Jack  Falstaff,  and  therefore  more 
6 


82  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

valiant,  being  as  he  is,  old  Jack  Falstaff,  banish  not 
him  thy  Harry's  company  ;  banish  plump  Jack,  and 
banish  all  the  world. 

Prince.     I  do,  I  will.  [A  knocking  heard. 

[Exeunt  Hostess,  Francis,  and  Bardolph. 

Re-enter  Bardolph,  running. 

Bard.  O,  my  lord,  my  lord !  the  sheriff,  with  a 
most  monstrous  watch,  is  at  the  door. 

Fal.  Out,  you  rogue  !  play  out  the  play :  I  have 
much  to  say  in  the  behalf  of  that  Falstaff. 

Re-enter  Hostess,  hastily. 

Host.     O  Jesu,  my  lord,  my  lord  ! — 

Fal.  Heigh !  heigh !  the  devil  rides  upon  a 
fiddlestick  :  What's  the  matter? 

Host.  The  sheriff  and  all  the  watch  are  at  the 
door :  they  are  come  to  search  the  house.  Shall  I 
let  them  in  ? 

Fal.  Dost  thou  hear,  Hal  ?  never  call  a  true 
piece  of  gold,  a  counterfeit :  thou  art  essentially 
mad,  without  seeming  so. 

Pri?ice.  And  thou  a  natural  coward,  without 
instinct. 

Fal.  I  deny  your  major;  if  you  will  deny  the 
sheriff,  so ;  if  not,  let  him  enter :  if  I  become  not  a 
cart  as  well  as  another  man,  a  plague  on  my  bring- 
ing up  !  I  hope  I  shall  as  soon  be  strangled  with  a 
halter  as  another. 

Prince.     Go,  hide  thee  behind  the  arras  ; — the  rest 


rOKTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


83 


walk  up  above.     Now,  my  masters,  for  a  true  face 
and  a  good  conscience. 

Pal.     Both  which  I  have  had  :  but  their  date  is 
out,  and  therefore  I'll  hide  me. 

[Exeunt  all  but  the  Prince  and  Poins. 

Prince.     Call  in  the  sheriff. — 

Enter  Sheriff  and  Carrier. 

Now,  master  Sheriff,  what's  your  will  with  me  ? 

Sher.     First,  pardon  me,  my  lord.     A  hue  and  cry 
Hath  followed  certain  men  into  this  house. 

Pri?ice.     What  men  ? 

Sher.     One  of  them  is  well  known,  my  gracious 
lord, 
A  gross  fat  man. 

Car.  As  fat  as  butter. 

Prince.     The  man,  I  do  assure  you,  is  not  here  ; 
For  I  myself  at  this  time  have  employed  him. 
And,  Sheriff,  I  will  engage  my  word  to  thee, 
That  I  will,  by  to-morrow  dinner-time, 
Send  him  to  answer  thee,  or  any  man, 
For  any  thing  he  shall  be  charged  withal  : 
And  so  let  me  entreat  you  leave  the  house. 

Sher.     I  will,  my  lord.    There  are  two  gentlemen 
Have  in  this  robbery  lost  three  hundred  marks. 

Prince.     It  may  be  so  :  if  he  have  robbed  these 
men, 
He  shall  be  answerable  ;  and  so,  farewell. 

Sher.     Good  night,  my  noble  lord. 

Prince.     I  think  it  is  good-morrow  ;  is  it  not  ? 


g4  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

Sher.     Indeed,  my  lord,  I  think  it  be  two  oclock. 

[Exeunt  Sheriff  and  Carrier. 

Prince.  This  oily  rascal  is  known  as  well  as 
Paul's.     Go  call  him  forth. 

Poins.  Falstaff !  Fast  asleep  behind  the  arras, 
and  snorting  like  a  horse. 

Prince.  Hark,  how  hard  he  fetches  breath  ! 
Search  his  pockets.  [Poins  searches^  What  hast 
thou  found  ? 

Poins.     Nothing  but  papers,  my  lord. 

Prince.     Let's  see  what  they  be  :  read  them. 

Poins.     Item,  A  capon,  2s.  2d. 
Item,  Sauce,  ^d. 
Item,  Sack,  two  gallons,  5^.  8d. 
Item,  Anchovies,  and  sack  after  supper,  2s.  6d. 
Item,  Bread,  a  half-penny. 

Prince.  O  monstrous  !  but  one  half-pennyworth 
of  bread  to  this  intolerable  deal  of  sack ! — What 
there  is  else,  keep  close ;  we'll  read  it  at  more  ad- 
vantage :  there  let  him  sleep  till  day.  I'll  to  the 
court  in  the  morning :  we  must  all  to  the  wars,  and 
thy  place  shall  be  honorable.  I'll  procure  this  fat 
rogue  a  charge  of  foot ;  and,  I  know,  his  death  will 
be  a  march  of  twelve-score.  The  money  shall  be 
paid  back  again  with  advantage.  Be  with  me  be- 
times in  the  morning ;  and  so  good-morrow,  Poins. 

Poins.     Good-morrow,  good  my  lord. 

Now  let  the  reader  peruse  Halliwell's 
account  of  the  deer-stealing  adventure, 
and   judge    for    himself    if  it    have    not 


PORTRAYED  BY  HIMSELF. 


85 


given  rise  to  this  scene  in  the  play,  as 
well  as  to  the  satire  on  Sir  Thomas  Lucy, 
which  shall  be  given  presently. 

"  The  public  records  contain  many  notices  of 
deer-stealing.  In  1583  Lord  Berkeley  issued  a  bill 
in  the  Star  Chamber  against  twenty  persons  who 
had  hunted  deer  unlawfully  in  his  forests.  The 
answer  of  William  Waare,  one  of  the  defendants,  is 
preserved  in  the  Chapter  House,  Westminster,  xciv. 
24,  and  he  confesses  having  killed  a  doe,  but,  not- 
withstanding that  admission,  asserts  that  the  pro- 
ceedings against  him  were  malicious  and  uncalled- 
for.  Fosbroke  (Hist.  Glouc.  i.  125)  mentions  an 
anecdote  tending  to  show  that  respectable  persons 
in  the  county  of  Gloucestershire,  adjoining  War- 
wickshire, were  not  ashamed  of  the  practice  of  deer- 
stealing.  Several  attorneys  and  others,  '  all  men  of 
metall,  and  good  woodmen,  /  mean  old  notorious 
deer-stealers,  well  armed,  came  in  the  night-time  to 
Michaelwood  with  deer-nets  and  dogs,  to  steale 
deer.'  Falstaff  asks,  '  Am  I  a  woodman  ? '  Can  it 
have  been  an  old  cant  term  for  a  deer-stealer  ?  If 
so,  Falstaff's  speech  may  allude  to  what  is  stated 
in  the  commencement  of  the  Merry  Wives  of  Wind- 
sor. 

"  Shakespeare  is  said,  on  good  authority,  to  have 
been  implicated  in  a  frolic  of  this  kind  ;  and,  al- 
though the  earliest  notice  of  the  tale  was  not 
penned  till  nearly  eighty  years  after  the  death  of 
the  poet,  yet  the    person  who  recorded  it  resided  in 


§6  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

a  neighboring  county,  and  being  a  clergyman,  with 
no  motive  whatever  to  mislead,  his  testimony  is  of 
great  value.  The  Rev.  William  Fulman,  who  died 
in  1688,  bequeathed  his  biographical  collections  to 
his  friend,  the  Rev.  Richard  Davies,  rector  of  Sap- 
perton  in  Gloucestershire,  who  made  several  addi- 
tions to  them.  Davies  died  in  1708,  and  these 
manuscripts  were  presented  to  the  library  of  Cor- 
pus Christi  College,  Oxford,  where  they  are  still 
preserved.  Under  the  article  Shakespeare,  Fulman 
made  very  few  notes,  and  those  of  little  impor- 
tance ;  but  Davies  inserted  the  curious  information, 
so  important  in  the  consideration  of  the  deer-steal- 
ing story.  The  following  is  a  complete  copy  of 
what  the  manuscript  contains  respecting  Shake- 
speare : 

" '  William  Shakespeare  was  born  at  Stratford- 
upon-Avon  in  Warwickshire,  about  1563-4.  Much 
given  to  all  unluckinesse  in  stealing  venison  and  rab- 
bits, particularly  from  Sr Lucy,  who  had  him 

oft  whipt  and  sometimes  imprisoned,  and  at  last 
made  him  fly  his  native  country,  to  his  great  advance- 
ment ;  but  his  revenge  was  so  great,  that  he  is  his 
Justice  Clodpate,  and  calls  him  a  great  man,  and 
that,  in  allusion  to  his  name,  bore  three  louses  ram- 
pant for  his  arms.  From  an  actor  of  plays  he  be- 
came a  composer.  He  dyed  April  23d,  1616,  agtat. 
53,  probably  at  Stratford,  for  there  he  is  buryed,  and 
hath  a  monument  (Dugd.  p.  520),  on  which  he  lays 
a  heavy  curse  upon  any  one  who  shal  remoove  his 
bones.     He  dyed  a  papist.'  " 


PORTRA  YE  I)  BY  HIMSELF. 


37 


Rowe,  who  wrote  the  first  account  of 
Shakespeare's  life,  published  in  1709, 
ninety-three  years  after  the  Poet's  death, 
thus  recounts  the  deer-stealing  episode  : 

"  In  this  kind  of  settlement  Shakespeare  contin- 
ued for  some  time,  till  an  extravagance  that  he  was 
guilty  of,  forced  him  both  out  of  his  country  and 
that  way  of  living  which  he  had  taken  up  ;  and, 
though  it  seemed  at  first  to  be  a  blemish  upon  his 
good  manners,  and  a  misfortune  to  him,  yet  it  after- 
wards happily  proved  the  occasion  of  exerting  one 
of  the  greatest  geniuses  that  ever  was  known  in 
dramatic  poetry.  He  had,  by  a  misfortune  common 
enough  to  young  fellows,  fallen  into  ill  company  ; 
and  among  them  some,  that  made  a  frequent  prac- 
tice of  deer-stealing,  engaged  him  with  them  more 
than  once  in  robbing  a  park  that  belonged  to  Sir 
Thomas  Lucy,  of  Charlecote,  near  Stratford.  For 
this  he  was  prosecuted  by  that  gentleman,  as  he 
thought,  somewhat  too  severely;  and,  in  order  to 
revenge  that  ill  usage,  he  made  a  ballad  upon  him. 
And  though  this,  probably  the  first  essay  of  his 
poetry,  be  lost,  yet  it  is  said  to  have  been  so  very 
bitter,  that  it  redoubled  the  prosecution  against 
him,  to  that  degree  that  he  was  obliged  to  leave  his 
business  and  family  in  Warwickshire  for  some  time, 
and  shelter  himself  in  London." 

Does  not  this  look  like  the  quarry 
whence    the   above  scenes    were    taken  ? 


88  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

Did  not  the  Poet  simply  improve  real  life 
by  the  colors  of  his  imagination  ?  All 
good  scenes  in  fiction  have  a  substratum 
of  truth  in  them  ;  all  the  best  characters 
of  our  first-class  novelists  and  dramatists 
are  drawn  from  life.  Mr.  Halliwell,  after 
quoting  the  above  passage  from  the  Rev. 
Richard  Davies,  continues  : 

"  This  testimony  has  been  doubted,  because  no 
such  character  as  Clodpate  occurs  in  any  of  Shake- 
peare's  plays  ;  but  it  was  a  generic  term  of  the 
time  for  a  foolish  person,  and  that  Davies  so  used 
it,  there  can,  I  think,  be  little  doubt.  In  the  MS. 
account  of  Warwickshire,  1693,  before  quoted,  the 
writer  calls  the  judge  of  the  Warwick  assizes  Mr. 
Justice  Clodpate,  intending  to  characterize  him  as 
an  ignorant,  stupid  man.  The  'three  looses  ram- 
pant '  refer  to  the  arms  actually  borne  by  Lucy. 
The  '  dozen  white  luces  '  in  the  play  is  merely  one 
of  Slender's  mistakes.  At  all  events,  here  we  have 
the  earliest  explanation  of  the  remarkable  satirical 
allusions  to  the  Lucy  family  at  the  commencement 
of  the  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor.  '  I  will  make  a  Star 
Chamber  matter  of  it,'  says  Justice  Shallow  ;  and 
we  have  just  seen  that  the  offence  of  deer-stealing 
was  referred  to  that  arbitrary  court.  'You  have 
beaten  my  men,  killed  my  deer,  and  broke  open  my 
lodge.'  Davies  tells  us,  moreover,  what  we  should 
have  believed   independently  of  his    authority,  that 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  89 

Sir  Thomas  Lucy  was  ridiculed  under  one  of  his 
characters.  That  character  is  Justice  Shallow,  and 
the  satire  is  by  no  means  confined  to  one  play. 
There  can  be  little  doubt  but  that  the  exquisite  de- 
scriptions of  a  country  justice  of  the  peace  in  the 
second  part  of  Henry  IV.  are  in  some  degree 
founded  upon  Sir  Thomas  Lucy.  When  Falstaff 
says,  '  If  the  young  dace  be  a  bait  for  the  old  pike, 
I  see  no  reason,  in  the  law  of  nature,  but  I  may 
snap  at  him,'  we  see  a  direct  personal  allusion,  a  luce 
being  merely  a  full-grown  pike.  Harrison,  in  his 
'  Description  of  England,'  p.  224,  says,  'The  pike, 
as  he  ageth,  receiveth  diverse  names,  as  from  a  frie 
to  a  gilthed,  from  a  gilthed  to  a  pod,  from  a  pod  to 
a  jacke,  from  a  jacke  to  a  pickerell,  from  a  pickerell 
to  a  pike,  and  last  of  all  to  a  luce.'  Shallow's  dec- 
laration, 'I  am,  sir,  under  the  king,  in  some  author- 
ity,' the  constant  ebullitions  of  importance  where  so 
much  is  inadequate  in  his  nature  to  support  it,  and 
touches  that  give  his  whole  character  the  air  of  a 
semi-ludicrous  creation,  would  more  severely  wound 
an  individual,  if  Sir  Thomas  was  recognized  by 
such  foibles,  than  the  keenest  verses  attached  to 
the  gate  of  Charlecote  Park.  I  trust  that  in  adopt- 
ing this  view  of  the  case,  believing  the  account 
given  by  Davies  to  shadow  the  truth,  I  am  not  fall- 
ing into  the  error  of  particularizing  a  generic  char- 
acter. I  am  too  well  aware  that  Shakespeare's  in- 
ventions were  '  not  of  an  age,  but  for  all  time ;  '  but 
in  this  instance  we  have  palpable  evidence  of  an 
allusion    to    an    individual,    a    neighbor    of    Shake- 


9o 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


speare's,  introduced  in  a  manner  to  leave  no  room 
for  hesitating  to  believe  that  a  retaliating  satire  was 
intended.  Again,  observe  how  severe  is  Falstaff 
on  Shallow's  administration  of  justice,  on  the  '  sem- 
blable  coherence  of  his  men's  spirits  and  his.' 
Davy's  interceding  for  his  friend  Visor  is  one  of  the 
keenest  satires  of  the  kind  to  be  found  in  Shake- 
speare." 

Then  Mr.  Halliwell  shows  the  remark- 
able fact  that  Shakespeare  "adopted  the 
names  of  his  characters  from  his  neigh- 
bors in  Warwickshire."  Even  Shake- 
speare's father  is  found,  among  the 
records  of  Stratford,  to  be  associated 
with  one  named  Fluellen  and  another 
named  Bardolph  in  a  fine  for  not  attend- 
ing church  !  This,  certainly,  is  Bardol- 
phean  enough ;  and,  for  aught  we  know, 
he  may  be  the  very  prototype  of  the  red- 
nosed  companion  of  Falstaff.  Why, 
therefore,  should  it  be  thought  incredible 
that  he  should  draw  the  likenesses  as 
well  as  adopt  the  names  of  his  neigh- 
bors? Why,  should  it  be  thought  in- 
credible that  he  should  paint  others 
whom  he  knew  besides  Sir  Thomas  Lucy, 
and  especially  one  living  character,  whom 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  g  x 

he  knew  best  of  all  ?  I  have  no  doubt 
that  a  Stratfordian  would  not  only  have 
discovered  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  in  Justice 
Shallow,  but  would  have  recognized  in 
Falstaff  and  Bardolph  two  other  well- 
known  Warwickshire  characters.  And  if 
he  were  an  intimate  friend,  he  would 
have  recognized  the  Poet  himself  in  the 
Prince,  and  enjoyed  the  play  even  more 
than  the  Londoners ; — for  Shakespeare 
no  more  invented  men  than  he  invented 
plots;  he  adopted  those  whom  he  found 
among  his  neighbors  and  associates,  and 
sometimes  the  very  names  along  with 
the  characters.  In  fact,  I  think  he 
wrote  the  whole  play  with  real  names  all 
the  way  through,  and  only  changed  them 
when  the  play  was  copied.  And  is  not 
this  item,  the  examining  of  Falstaff's 
pockets,  such  a  thing  as  the  character- 
studying  poet  might  be  guilty  of  ?  Could 
anything  be  more  natural  to  a  man  who 
could  "  drink  with  any  tinker  in  his  own 
language,"  play  such  fantastic  tricks  with 
tapsters,  and  disguise  himself  as  a 
"  drawer"  or  pot-boy  in  a  practical  joke  ? 


92 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


Who  that  knows  anything  of  tavern-life 
has  not  seen  such  a  thine?  Between  the 
poet  and  one  of  his  boon  companions 
nothing  could  be  more  natural ;  especially 
when  we  consider  what  use  he  made  of  it, 
and  how  completely  he  exposed  the  old 
fox  when  he  complained  of  being  robbed 
of  "four  bonds  of  forty  pounds  apiece, 
and  a  seal-ring  of  his  grandfather's  :  " 

Prince.  ....  Charge  an  honest  woman  with 
picking  thy  pocket !  Why,  thou  impudent  embossed 
rascal,  if  there  were  anything  in  thy  pocket  but  tav- 
ern reckonings,  memorandums  of  bawdy-houses,  and 
one  poor  pennyworth  of  sugar-candy  to  make  thee 
long-winded  ;  if  thy  pocket  were  enriched  with  any 
other  injuries  but  these,  I  am  a  villain.  And  yet 
you  will  stand  to  it ;  you  will  not  pocket  up  wrong  : 
art  thou  not  ashamed  ? 

Fal.  Dost  thou  hear,  Hal  ?  thou  knowest,  in  the 
state  of  innocency  Adam  fell;  and  what  should 
poor  Jack  Falstaff  do  in  the  days  of  villany  ?  Thou 
seest  I  have  more  flesh  than  another  man,  and  there- 
fore more  frailty. — You  confess,  then,  you  picked 
my  pocket  ? 

Prince.     It  seems  so  by  the  story. 

I  have  always  looked  upon  the  Gads- 
hill  exploit  and  its  sequel  as  but  another 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  93 

version  of  one  of  Shakespeare's  own  deer- 
stealing  adventures,  and  upon  Falstaff  as 
a  portrait  of  one  of  his  early  associates 
in  these  adventures.  The  thing  looks  too 
real  to  be  an  invention ;  especially  as 
Shakespeare  never  invented  plots,  but 
seized  upon  those  that  he  found  at  hand. 
Falstaff  is  obviously  a  picture  of  one  of 
those  witty  roysterers  with  whom  he 
passed  many  a  merry  hour  in  the  days 
when  he 

"  went  gypsying,  a  long  time  ago ;  " 

one  of  those  ''young  fellows"  into  whose 
"  ill  company  "  he  had  fallen  ;  and  I  am 
sure  he  took  as  much  delight  in  painting 
the  picture  as  we  take  in  the  observation 
of  it. 

Of  course,  I  know  that  Falstaff  (or 
Oldcastle,  which  was  the  name  first  given 
him)  is  a  character  in  history  ;  but  there 
is  no  more  resemblance  between  the  Fal- 
staff of  history  and  the  Falstaff  of  Shake- 
speare than  between  chalk  and  cheese. 
Sir  John  Oldcastle,  the  good  Lord  Cob- 
ham,  was  a  person  of  an  entirely  different 


94 


WILLI  A  M  SUA  ICES  PEA  RE 


character  from  Falstaff ;  and  the  Fas- 
tolfe  of  the  French  wars  is  a  man  of 
whom  we  know  almost  nothing.  In  fact, 
these  historical  characters  are  mere  skel- 
etons or  shadows  of  men  ;  while  Shake- 
speare's Falstaff  is  a  real,  substantial 
man,  full  of  all  that  is  living  and  life- 
like in  spirit  and  conversation,  witty, 
jovial,  genial,  sensible, — perhaps  the 
most  real,  living  and  substantial  char- 
acter in  literature.  Such  a  character 
could  not  be  taken  from  any  musty  his- 
torical records,  but  from  the  author's 
intimate  personal  acquaintance  ;  he  was 
a  man  with  whom  he  had  lived,  laughed, 
and  talked  in  familiar  daily  intercourse. 
No  real  live  character  is  ever  conjured  up 
from  the  imagination  ;  such  a  character 
must  be  taken  from  life.  Who  that  has 
mixed  much  among  men  has  not  known 
such  a  man  as  Falstaff  ?  Yet  who  among 
men  is  able  to  paint  him  like  the  great 
master  ? 

Indeed,  I  think  Shakespeare  had,  like 
most  good  writers  of  fiction,  a  living  rep- 
resentative for  nearly  every  character  he 


PORTRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF. 


95 


drew  :  that  is,  he  idealized  living  or  real 
characters,  and  made  them  show  them- 
selves more  completely  themselves  than 
they  ever  actually  did  in  life.  A  word 
or  an  incident  often  unfolded  to  him  the 
whole  soul  of  a  man,  and  when  he  wanted 
to  portray  him,  he  showed  him  as  he 
saw  him  ;  he  knew  how  he  would  think, 
talk,  and  act  on  given  occasions,  and 
painted  him  accordingly.  Thus  many  a 
scene  in  which  Falstaff  appears  is  not  an 
actual  transcript  of  what  occurred,  but  of 
what  would  occur  were  he  actually  in  that 
situation.  "  I  have  little  doubt,"  says 
Washington  Irving,  "that  in  early  life, 
when  running  like  an  unbroken  colt  about 
the  neighborhood  of  Stratford,  Shake- 
speare was  to  be  found  in  the  company 
of  all  kinds  of  anomalous  characters  [is  it 
not  a  peculiarity  of  genius  to  seek  out 
such  characters  ?] ;  that  he  associated 
with  all  the  madcaps  of  the  place,  and  was 
one  of  those  unlucky  urchins,  at  mention 
of  whom  old  men  shake  their  heads,  and 
predict  that  they  will  one  day  come  to 
the  gallows."      Precisely.     So  did  people 


q6  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

predict  of  Prince  Henry  ;  so  have  people 
predicted  of  many  another  man  of  genius. 
Shakespeare  well  remembered  these  pre- 
dictions ;  and  he  makes  the  Prince  deter- 
mine, like  him,  to  disappoint  those  who 
"did  forethink  his  fall." 

To  show  that  the  Poet  was  in  the 
habit  of  portraying  real  characters  and 
real  scenes,  let  me  quote  a  striking 
passage  from  Halliwell-Phillipps'  "  Out- 
lines of  the  Life  of  Shakespeare,"  where- 
in he  describes  the  origin  of  Christo- 
pher  Sly  in  the  Induction  to  the  Tam- 
ing of  the  Shrew.  "That  delicious  epi- 
sode," says  he,  "  presents  us  with  a  frag- 
ment of  the  rural  life  with  which  Shake- 
speare himself  must  have  been  familiar  in 
his  native  county.  With  such  animated 
power  is  it  written,  that  we  almost  appear 
to  personally  witness  the  affray  between 
Marian  Hacket,  the  fat  ale-wife  of  Win- 
cot,  and  Christopher  Sly ;  to  see  the 
nobleman  on  his  return  from  the  chase 
discovering  the  insensible  drunkard  ;  and 
to  hear  the  strolling  actors  make  the  offer 
of   professional   services,   which  was    re- 


PORTRAYED  BY  HIMSELF. 


97 


quited  by  the  cordial  welcome  to  the  but- 
tery. Wincot  is  a  secluded  hamlet  near 
Stratford-on-Avon,  and  there  is  an  old 
tradition  that  the  ale-house  frequented 
by  Sly  was  often  resorted  to  by  Shake- 
speare for  the  sake  of  diverting  himself 
with  a  fool  who  belonged  to  a  neighbor- 
ing  mill.  [Could  anything  be  more  like 
the  conduct  of  the  Prince  ?]  Stephen 
Sly,  one  of  the  tinker's  friends  or  rela- 
tives, was  a  known  character  at  Stratford- 
on-Avon,  and  is  several  times  mentioned 
in  the  records  of  that  town.  This  fact, 
taken  in  conjunction  with  the  references 
to  Wilmecote  and  Burton-on-the-Heath, 
definitely  prove  that  the  scene  of  the  In- 
duction was  intended  to  be  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Stratford-on-Avon,  the  water- 
mill  tradition  leading;  to  the  belief  that 
little  Wilmecote,  the  part  of  the  hamlet 
nearest  to  the  Poet's  native  town,  is  the 
Wincot  alluded  to  in  the  comedy." 

Now,  as  Justice  Shallow  is  universally 
acknowledged  to  be  the  portrait  of  a 
Stratfordian,  and  as  I  wish  to  let  the 
reader  see  the   Visor  satire  and  the  truth 

7 


qS  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

of  Mr.  Halliwell's  conclusions,  I  think  it 
worth  his  while  for  him  to  take  a  glance 
at  the  character,  as  presented  in  the 
Second  Part  of  Henry  IV.,  Act  V. 

SCENE  I.— Gloucestershire.  A  Hall  in  Shal- 
low's House. 

Enter  Shallow,  Falstaff,  Bardolph,  and  Page. 

Shal.  By  cock  and  pye,  sir,  you  shall  not  away 
to-night. — What,  Davy,  I  say! 

Fal.  You  must  excuse  me,  master  Robert  Shal- 
low. 

Shal.     I  will  not  excuse  you ;  you  shall  not  be 

excused ;    excuses  shall  not  be  admitted ;  there  is 

no  excuse  shall  serve  ;  you  shall  not  be  excused. — 

Why,  Davy  ! 

Enter  Davy. 

Davy.     Here,  sir. 

Shal.  Davy,  Davy,  Davy, — let  me  see,  Davy  ;  let 
me  see  : — yea,  marry,  William  cook,  bid  him  come 
hither. — Sir  John,  you  shall  not  be  excused. 

Davy.  Marry,  sir,  thus  : — those  warrants  cannot 
be  served  :  and,  again,  sir, — shall  we  sow  the  head- 
land with  wheat  ? 

Shal.  With  red  wheat,  Davy.  But  for  William 
cook  ■, — Are  there  no  young  pigeons  ? 

Davy.  Yes,  sir. — Here  is  now  the  smith's  note, 
for  shoeing,  and  for  plough-irons. 

Shal.  Let  it  be  cast  up,  and  paid. — Sir  John,  you 
shall  not  be  excused. 

Davy.     Now,  sir,  a  new  link  to  the  bucket  must 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  gg 

needs  be  had. — And,  sir,  do  you  mean  to  stop  any 
of  William's  wages,  about  the  sack  he  lost  the  other 
day  at  Hinckley  fair  ? 

Shal,  He  shall  answer  it : — Some  pigeons, 
Davy  ;  a  couple  of  short  legged  hens  ;  a  joint  of 
mutton  ;  and  any  pretty  little  tiny  kickshaws,  tell 
William  cook. 

Davy.     Doth  the  man  of  war  stay  all  night,  sir? 

Shal.  Yes,  Davy,  I  will  use  him  well.  A  friend 
i'the  court  is  better  than  a  penny  in  purse.  Use  his 
men  well,  Davy  ;  for  they  are  arrant  knaves,  and 
will  backbite. 

Davy.  No  worse  than  they  are  backbitten,  sir; 
for  they  have  marvelous  foul  linen. 

Shal.  Well  conceited,  Davy.  About  thy  busi- 
ness, Davy. 

Davy.  I  beseech  you,  sir,  to  countenance  Wil- 
liam Visor  of  Wincot,  against  Clement  Perkes  of 
the  hill. 

Shal.  There  are  many  complaints,  Davy,  against 
that  Visor;  that  Visor  is  an  arrant  knave,  on  my 
knowledge. 

Davy.  I  grant  your  worship,  that  he  is  a  knave, 
sir ;  but  yet,  God  forbid,  sir,  but  a  knave  should 
have  some  countenance  at  his  friend's  request.  An 
honest  man,  sir,  is  able  to  speak  for  himself,  when 
a  knave  is  not.  I  have  served  your  worship  truly, 
sir,  this  eight  years;  and  if  I  cannot  once  or  twice 
in  a  quarter  bear  out  a  knave  against  an  honest 
man,  I  have  but  a  very  little  credit  with  your  wor- 
ship.    The  knave  is  mine   honest  friend,  sir;  there- 


IOO  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

fore,  I  beseech   your  worship,   let  him  be  counte' 
nanced. 

Shal.  Go  to;  I  say,  he  shall  have  no  wrong. 
Look  about,  Davy.  [Exit  Davy.]  Where  are  you, 
Sir  John  ?  Come,  off  with  your  boots. — Give  me 
your  hand,  master  Bardolph. 

Bard.     I  am  glad  to  see  your  worship. 

Shal.  I  thank  thee  with  all  my  heart,  kind  mas- 
ter Bardolph  : — and  welcome,  my  tall  fellow.  [To 
the  Page]     Come,  Sir  John.  [Exit  Shallow. 

Fal.  I'll  follow  you,  good  master  Robert  Shallow. 
Bardolph,  look  to  our  horses.  [Exeunt  Bardolph 
and  Page]  If  I  were  sawed  into  quantities,  I 
should  make  four  dozen  of  such  bearded  hermit's- 
staves  as  master  Shallow.  It  is  a  wonderful  thing 
to  see  the  semblable  coherence  of  his  men's  spirits 
and  his  :  they,  by  observing  him,  do  bear  them- 
selves like  foolish  justices ;  he,  by  conversing  with 
them,  is  turned  into  a  justice-like  serving  man  ;  their 
spirits  are  so  married  in  conjunction  with  the  parti- 
cipation of  society,  that  they  flock  together  in  con- 
sent, like  so  many  wild-geese.  If  I  had  a  suit  to 
master  Shallow,  I  would  humor  his  men  with  the 
imputation  of  being  near  their  master :  if  to  his  men, 
I  would  curry  with  master  Shallow,  that  no  man 
could  better  command  his  servants.  It  is  certain, 
that  either  wise  bearing,  or  ignorant  carriage,  is 
caught,  as  men  take  diseases,  one  of  another  :  there- 
fore, let  men  take  heed  of  their  company.  I  will 
devise  matter  enough  out  of  this  Shallow,  to  keep 
Prince  Harry  in  continual  laughter,  the  wearing-out 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  j  0  r 

of  six  fashions  (which  is  four  terms,  or  two  actions), 
and  he  shall  laugh  without  intervallums .  O,  it  is 
much,  that  a  lie,  with  a  slight  oath,  and  a  jest,  with 
a  sad  brow,  will  do  with  a  fellow  that  never  had 
the  ache  in  his  shoulders !  O,  you  shall  see  him 
laugh  till  his  face  be  like  a  wet  cloak  ill  laid  up. 

Shal.     [  Withiti\  Sir  John  ! 

Fal.  I  come,  master  Shallow ;  I  come,  master 
Shallow. 

There  is  one  point  in  the  concluding 
part  of  the  scene  after  the  robbery  that 
ought  to  be  noticed — that  in  which  the 
Prince  for  the  first  and  only  time  acts 
unlike  himself,  and  tells  a  deliberate 
falsehood. 

The  man,  I  do  assure  you,  is  not  here  ; 

For  I  myself  at  this  time  have  employed  him. 

It  may  be  said,  that  this  is  merely  a 
white  lie,  quite  allowable  in  aristocratic 
circles,  according  to  the  morals  of  that 
day.  But  a  lie  is  never  allowable  in  the 
mouth  of  a  gentleman,  least  of  all  in  that 
of  a  prince.  Nor  is  it  a  sufficient  excuse 
to  say  the  Prince  had  to  do  this  to  screen 
his  companion  and  save  him  from  prison. 
The    Poet    could    have    made    him    give 


I,o2  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

some  excuse  without  absolute  falsehood  ; 
but  perhaps  he  wished  to  show  that  the 
Prince  had  not  escaped  altogether  unin- 
jured in  associating  with  persons  of  ques- 
tionable character.  His  conduct  is  a 
practical  illustration  of  the  words  he  sub- 
sequently puts  in  the  mouth  of  Falstaff 
touching  Justice  Shallow  :  "  It  is  certain, 
that  either  wise  bearing  or  ignorant  car- 
riage is  caught,  as  men  take  diseases  one 
of  another ;  therefore,  let  men  take  heed 
of  their  company."  The  Prince  had  just 
listened  to  and  laughed  immoderately  at 
a  batch  of  the  most  monstrous  lies  ;  and 
lying,  which  had  become  the  order  of  the 
night,  was  looked  upon  as  mere  fun. 
Might  not  Shakespeare  have  remembered 
that  he  too  had  "  done  those  things  which 
he  ought  not  to  have  done,  and  left  un- 
done those  things  which  he  ought  to  have 
done  ?  "  and,  wishing  to  make  the  portrait 
complete,  he  set  down  the  blotches  as 
well  as  the  graces. 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  j  03 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


TURNING     PAST     EVILS    TO    ADVANTAGES 


»i 


BUT  perhaps  the  strongest  evidence 
yet  presented  of  the  truth  of  my 
theory,  is  that  displayed  in  the  Fourth 
Act,  Fourth  Scene,  of  the  Second  Part 
of  Henry  IV.  I  beg  the  reader  carefully 
to  note,  in  this  scene,  the  king's  charac- 
terization of  the  Prince,  and  especially 
the  Earl  of  Warwick's  account  of  the  mo- 
tives which  induced  him  to  select  such 
company  as  he  keeps. 

Westminster.     A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Jinter  the  King,   his    sons   Clarence    and    Hum- 
phrey, the  Earl  of 'Warwick,  and  others. 
King.     Now,  lords,  if  God  doth  give   successful 
end 
To  this  debate  that  bleedeth  at  our  doors, 
We  will  our  youth  lead  on  to  higher  fields, 
And  draw  no  swords  but  what  are  sanctified. 
( )ur  navy  is  addressed,  our  power  collected, 


104 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


Our  substitutes  in  absence  well  invested, 
And  everything  lies  level  to  our  wish  : 
Only  we  want  a  little  personal  strength, 
And  pause  us,  till  these  Rebels  now  afoot, 
Come  underneath  the  yoke  of  government. 

War.     Both  which  we  doubt  not  but  your  majesty 
Shall  soon  enjoy. 

King.  Humphrey,  my  son  of  Gloster, 

Where  is  the  prince,  your  brother  ? 

Humph.     I  think  he's  gone  to  hunt,  my  lord,   at 
Windsor. 

King.     And  how  accompanied  ? 

Humph.  I  do  not  know,  my  lord. 

King.     Is  not  his  brother,  Thomas  of  Clarence, 
with  him  ? 

Humph.     No,  my  good   lord ;    he's   in   presence 
here. 

Clar.     What  would  my  lord  and  father  ? 

King.     Nothing    but   well    to    thee,    Thomas   of 
Clarence. 
How   chance    thou   art   not    with    the   prince,    thy 

brother  ? 
He  loves  thee,  and  thou  dost  neglect  him,  Thomas. 
Thou  hast  a  better  place  in  his  affection 
Than  all  thy  brothers  :  cherish  it,  my  boy ; 
And  noble  offices  thou  mayst  effect 
Of  mediation,  after  I  am  dead, 
Between  his  greatness  and  thy  other  brethren  : 
Therefore  omit  him  not ;   blunt  not  his  love, 
Nor  lose  the  good  advantage  of  his  grace, 
By  seeming  cold  or  careless  of  his  will. 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  t 0  5 

For  he  is  gracious  if  he  be  observed: 
He  hath  a  tear  for  pity,  and  a  hand 
Open  as  day  for  melting  charity  : 
Yet,  notwithstanding,  being  incens'd,  he's  flint ; 
As  humorous  *  as  winter,  and  as  sudden 
As  flaws  f  congealed  in  the  spring  of  day. 
His  temper,  therefore,  must  be  well  observed  : 
Chide  him  for  faults,  and  do  it  reverently, 
When  you  perceive  his  blood  inclined  to  mirth ; 
But,  being  moody,  give  him  line  and  scope, 
Till  that  his  passions,  like  a  whale  on  ground, 
Confound    themselves  with    working.     Learn    this, 

Thomas, 
And  thou  shalt  prove  a  shelter  to  thy  friends, 
A  hoop  of  gold,  to  bind  thy  brothers  in  : 
That  the  united  vessel  of  their  blood, 
Mingled  with  venom  of  suggestion, 
(As  force  per  force,  the  age  will  pour  it  in,) 
Shall  never  leak,  though  it  do  work  as  strong 
As  aconitum,  or  rash  gunpowder. 

Clar.     I  shall  observe  him  with  all  care  and  love. 
King.     'Why  art  thou  not  at  Windsor  with  him, 

Thomas  ? 
Clar.     He    is    not   there    to-day ;    he   dines   in 

London. 
King.     And  how  accompanied  ?     Canst  thou  tell 

that  ? 


*  Capricious. 

t  Flaws  are  the  small  blades  of  ice  which  are  struck  on  the 
edges  of  water  in  winter  mornings. — Edwards. 


106  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

Clar.     With  Poins,  and  other  his  continual  fol- 
lowers. 

King.     Most  subject  is  the  fattest  soil  to  weeds  ; 
And  he,  the  noble  image  of  my  youth, 
Is  overspread  with  them.     Therefore,  my  grief 
Stretches  itself  beyond  the  hour  of  death  : 
The  blood  weeps  from  my  heart,  when  I  do  shape, 
In  forms  imaginary,  the  unguided  days, 
And  rotten  times,  that  you  shall  look  upon, 
When  I  am  sleeping  with  my  ancestors. 
For  when  his  headstrong  riot  hath  no  curb, 
When  rage  and  hot  blood  are  his  counsellors, 
When  means  and  lavish  manners  meet  together, 
O !  with  what  wings  shall  his  affections  *  fly, 
Towards  fronting  peril  and  opposed  decay  ! 

War.     My  gracious   lord,  you  look   beyond  him 
quite  : 
The  prince  but  studies  his  companions, 
Like  a  strange  tongue  ;  wherein,  to  gain  the  language, 
'  Tis  needful  that  the  most  immodest  word 
Be  looked  upon,  and  learned  ;  which,  once  attained, 
Your  highness  knows,  comes  to  no.  further  use, 
But  to  be  known  and  hated.     So,  like  gross  terms, 
The  prince  will,  in  the  perfectness  of  time, 
Cast  off  his  followers  ;  and  their  memory 
Shall  as  a  pattern  or  a  measure  live 
By  which  his  grace  must  mete  the  lives  of  others, 
Turning  past  evils  to  advantages. 

*  Passions. 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF. 


I07 


Could  anything  be  more  plain  ?  Is  it 
not  evident  from  what  we  know  of  his 
history,  that  he  here  shows  how  he  him- 
self "  turned  past  evils  to  advantages  ?  " 
how  he  mixed  among  men,  even  of  the 
meaner  sort,  in  order  to  "  mete  the  lives 
of  others,"  and  turn  his  knowledge  of 
their  lanoaia^e  and  behavior  to  advan- 
tage  in  his  art  ?  Was  it  not  thus  that  he 
"  held  the  mirror  up  to  nature  ?  "  Did 
he  not  indeed  make  use  of  their  memory 
as  "a  pattern  or  a  measure  "  whereby  to 
"mete  the  lives  of  others?"  Thus  had 
he  turned  the  evil  of  his  own  early  life 
to  advantage  ;  thus  had  he  enriched  the 
world  with  the  most  natural  and  most 
entertaining  characters  in  literature;  thus 
had  he  coined  his  own  experience  into 
golden  lessons  of  life  and  conduct  for 
all  mankind.  How  could  he  otherwise 
have  learned  so  much  about  all  classes 
of  men  ?  How  could  he  otherwise  have 
acquired  such  minute  and  exact  knowl- 
edge of  the  habits,  manners,  character, 
and  lancniacre  of  the  lowest  as  well  as 
of  the  highest    people  ?     His  friendship 


1 08  WILLI  A  M  SHAKE  SPEA  RE 

with  Southampton,  Montgomery  and 
Pembroke  served  him  in  no  less  good 
stead  than  his  friendship  with  the  hum- 
blest people  whom  he  knew.  "  His 
mind  educated  itself,  not  by  early  study 
or  instruction,  but  by  active  listening 
and  rapid  apprehension." 

Let  the  reader  observe  how  well  the 
Earl's  account  of  the  Prince's  conduct 
agrees  with  the  Bishop's  description  of 
the  manner  in  which  he  obtained  his 
knowledge  ; 

The  strawberry  grows  underneath  the  nettle, 
And  wholesome  berries  thrive  and  ripen  best 
Neighbored  by  fruit  of  baser  quality  ; 
And  so  the  Prince  obscured  his  contemplation 
Under  the  veil  of  wildness. 

The  Prince  himself,  when  he  has 
"  turned  away  his  former  self,"  and  is  no 
longer  "the  thing  he  was,"  refers  to  his 
early  experiences  in  the  same  light.  The 
Dauphin  having  sent  him,  shortly  after 
he  had  ascended  the  throne,  a  set  of  ten- 
nis-balls, as  a  derisive  fling  at  his  early 
associations,  the  Prince  thus  answers 
him : 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  109 

And  we  understand  him  well, 
How  he  comes  o'er  us  with  our  wilder  days, 
Not  measuring  what  use  we  made  of 'them. 

And  the  wiser  of  the  French  king's 
counsellors,  on  learning  from  the  ambas- 
sadors the  behavior  of  the  English  king, 
saw  that  he  was  a  man  not  to  be  meas- 
ured by  the  indications  of  his  youth  : 

Dauphin.     For,    my   good   lord,    she   is   so  idly 
king'd, 
Her  scepter  so  fantastically  borne, 
By  a  vain,  giddy,  shallow,  humorous  youth, 
That  fear  attends  her  not. 

Constable.  O  peace,  Prince  Dauphin  ! 

You  are  too  much  mistaken  in  this  king. 
Question  your  Grace  the  late  ambassadors, — 
With  what  great  state  he  heard  their  embassy; 
How  well  supplied  with  noble  counsellors; 
How  modest  in  exception,  and  withal 
How  terrible  in  constant  resolution, — 
And  you  shall  find,  his  vanities,  forespeut, 
Were  but  the  out  side  of  the  Roman  /hutus, 
Covering  discretion  with  a  coat  of  folly. 

How  significant  is  that  phrase,  "  cover- 
ing discretion  with  a  coat  of  folly  !  "  Can 
we  not  imagine  that  Shakespeare,  the 
actor  as  well   as   author,  did  this   thing  ? 


I  i  o  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

Consider  for  a   moment  how  the  wisest 
man  of  antiquity  acquired  his  wisdom  : 

"  I  sought  in  mine  heart  to  give  myself  unto 
wine,  yet  acquainting  mine  heart  with  wisdom  ;  and 
to  lay  hold  on  folly,  till  I  might  see  what  7oas  that 
good  for  the  sons  of  men  which  they  should  do  un- 
der the  heaven  all  the  days  of  their  life. 

"  I  made  me  great  works  ;  I  builded  me  houses ; 
I  planted  me  vineyards  ;  I  made  me  gardens  and 
orchards  ;  and  I  planted  trees  in  them  of  all  kinds 
of  fruits  : 

"  I  made  me  pools  of  water,  to  water  therewith 
the  wood  that  bringeth  forth  trees  : 

"  I  got  me  servants  and  maidens  [concubines], 
and  had  servants  born  in  my  house  : 

"  I  gathered  me  also  silver  and  gold,  and  the  pe- 
culiar treasure  of  kings,  and  of  the  provinces  ;  I  got 
me  men-singers  and  women-singers,  and  the  de- 
lights of  the  sons  of  men,  as  musical  instruments, 
and  these  of  all  sorts  : 

"  So  I  was  great,  and  increased  more  than  all  that 
were  before  me  in  Jerusalem  :  also  my  wisdom  re- 
mained with  me. 

"  And  whatsoever  mine  eyes  desired  I  kept  not 
from  them  ;  I  withheld  not  my  heart  from  any  joy  ; 
for  my  heart  rejoiced  in  all  my  labor  :  and  this  was 
my  portion  of  all  my  labor. 

"  Then  I  looked  on  all  the  works  that  my  hands 
had  wrought,  and  on  the  labor  that  I  had  labored 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  1 j 1 

to  do  :  and  behold,  all  was  vanity  and  vexation  of 
spirit,  and  there  was  no  profit  under  the  sun. 

"  Then  I  turned  myself  to  behold  wisdom,  and 
madness,  and  folly  : 

"  And  I  saw  that  wisdom  excelleth  folly  as  far 
as  light  excelleth  darkness." 

All  which  strongly  exemplifies  the 
truth  which  I  have  already  shown,  that  it 
is  not  books,  nor  classical  studies,  that 
make  men  great  poets  and  great  novel- 
ists, but  actual  experimental  knowledge. 

I  do  not  mean  by  all  this  to  infer  that 
a  young  man  should,  to  become  ac- 
quainted with  the  world  and  acquire  wis- 
dom, cultivate  the  acquaintance  of  lewd 
and  wicked  people,  and  do  wicked  things. 
God  forbid  !  but  when  he  has  become  a 
man,  and  has  attained  some  firmness  of 
character,  it  will  not  be  amiss  for  him  to 
mix  among  people  of  all  classes  with  the 
view  of  becoming  personally  acquainted 
with  their  character.  There  is  nothing 
like  experimental  knowledge,  especially 
for  the  purposes  of  art.  Outside  of  this, 
nothing  will  help  him  so  much  as  the 
plays  of  Shakespeare,  who  seems  to  have 


1 1 2  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

known  men  and  women  better  than  any- 
other  human  being  that  ever  lived. 

"  Most  subject  are  the  fattest  soils  to 
weeds."  What  fat  soils  and  what  weeds 
were  found  in  many  of  the  most  distin- 
guished men  in  history !  Need  I  men- 
tion, for  instance,  Caesar,  Antony,  Alex- 
ander, St.  Augustine,  Marlowe,  Steele, 
Mirabeau,  Rousseau  and  Fox?  A  whole 
catalogue  of  such  men  might  be  made 
out.  If  ever  there  was  a  fat  soil,  it  was 
that  of  Shakespeare,  and  we  know  from 
his  Sonnets,  and  from  various  other 
sources,  that  the  weeds  were  not  lacking. 

M.  Taine,  who,  like  so  many  others, 
discovers  Shakespeare  in  Hamlet,  finds 
most  of  the  materials  of  his  life  in  the 
Sonnets.  Hamlet  may  indeed  be  Shake- 
speare in  some  part  of  his  life  ;  in  those 
days  when  he  was  most  "sicklied  o'er 
with  the  pale  cast  of  thought ; "  when  the 
origin  of  things  and  the  mystery  of  exist- 
ence occupied  his  mind  in  an  uncommon 
degree  ;  and  when,  as  some  suppose,  he 
had  suffered  some  terrible  stroke  of  fate  ; 
— but    the    Shakespeare   of  the   Sonnets 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  l  T  3 

belongs  to  the  earlier  period,  to  that  part 
of  his  life  in  which  he  was  beginning  to 
tear  himself  away  from  the  Siren  circle 
that  seems  to  have  held  him  fast  so 
long,  and  when  he  was  turning  toward 
nobler  and  greater  things  : 

Alas  !  'tis  true  ;  I  have  gone  here  and  there 
And  made  myself  a  motley  to  the  view ; 
Gored  mine  own  thoughts  ; 
Sold  cheap  what  is  most  dear. 

O  for  my  sake,  do  thou  with  Fortune  chide, 
The  guilty  goddess  of  my  harmful  deeds, 

That  did  not  better  for  my  life  provide, 

Than    public    means,    which   public    manners 

breeds. 

Thence  comes  it  that  my  name  receives  a  brand, 
And  almost  thence  my  nature  is  subdued 

To  what  it  works  in,  like  the  dyer's  hand. 
Pity  me  then 

Whilst,  like  a  willing  patient,  I  will  drink 
Potions  of  eysel. 

These  lines  look,  indeed,  as  Mr.  Arm- 
itage  Brown  thinks,  as  if  they  were  ad- 
dressed to  one  of  his  noble  friends,  per- 
haps the  Earl  of  Southampton,  lamenting 
the  unhappy    associations    and    unfavor- 


U4 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


able  reputation  of  the  stage  ;  and  it  is 
clear  that,  mixing  in  this  high  and  noble 
society,  he  felt  a  stigma  cast  on  his  name 
as  an  actor.  During  all  his  life,  and 
through  all  his  works,  he  entertained  a 
high  respect  for  the  nobility,  and  finally 
endeavored  to  become  one  of  them  him- 
self. 

The  following  passage  is  of  the  same 
tenor,  sorrowing  over  the  disgraceful  and 
outcast  state  of  his  profession  in  men's 
eyes,  and  sighing  to  be  "  like  one  more 
rich  in  hope ; "  but  still  displaying  the 
mental  agonies  of  one  who  was  strug- 
gling toward  better  things : 

When  in  disgrace  with  Fortune  and  men's  eyes, 

I  all  alone  beweep  my  outcast  state, 
And  trouble  deaf  Heaven  with  my  bootless  cries ; 

And  look  upon  myself,  and  curse  my  fate, 
Wishing  me  like  to  one  more  rich  in  hope, 

Featured   like   him,  like   him   with  friends   pos- 
sessed .... 
With  what  I  most  enjoy  contented  least ; 

Yet  in  these  thoughts  myself  almost  despising. 

Sonnet  91. 

Does  not  this  look  like  inward  disgust 


PORTRAYED  BY  HIMSELF. 


115 


at  vulgar  and  low  associations,  and  re- 
morse for  the  part  he  had  played  among 
low  and  inferior  people  ? 

It  is  evident  that  his  associations  with 
the  nobility  had  cast  a  fascination  over 
him,  and  he  wished  he  were  one  of  them ; 
a  wish  which,  as  we  shall  see,  never  en- 
tirely left  him.  Let  any  young  man  who 
has  had  to  work  hard  for  a  living,  who 
has  experienced  all  the  ills  of  poverty 
and  severe  toil,  suddenly  find  himself  on 
an  honorable  footing  among  refined  and 
noble  people,  surrounded  with  all  the 
elegances  of  wealth,  culture,  and  ease, 
with  ample  time  and  means  for  study, 
and  he  too,  however  philosophic  in 
character,  will  wish  himself  "like  one 
more  rich  in  hope,  featured  like  him,  like 
him  with  friends  possessed."  After  the 
very  hardest  kind  of  experience  in  his 
youth,  the  writer  suddenly  found  himself, 
at  twenty-five,  a  teacher  of  languages  in 
an  aristocratic  school  in  Germany,  sur- 
rounded by  people  of  refinement  and  cul- 
ture, and  with  a  handsome  salary  for  giv- 
ing a  few    lessons   a  day   in    his    native 


n6  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

tongue.  How  keenly  he  appreciated  the 
change  ancl  how  much  he  envied  those 
whose  youth  was  so  much  more  favored 
than  his  own  !  He  would  willingly,  had 
circumstances  permitted,  have  passed  his 
life  in  this  delightful  situation. 

The  first  lines  in  the  last  quotation 
seem  obviously  to  refer  to  that  early 
period  in  which  Shakespeare  travelled 
with  his  company  from  town  to  town, 
making  himself  "  a  motley  to  the  view." 
No  doubt  he  had  served  a  severe  and  bit- 
ter apprenticeship  in  the  hard-faring  and 
soul-trying  profession  of  the  actor  ;  he 
had  endured  the  scoffs  and  jeers  of  those 
who  derided  his  calling,  and  was  prob- 
ably severely  criticised  by  people  who 
knew  nothing  of  his  art,  and  who  little 
suspected  that  this  young  actor  was  to 
become  the  regenerator  and  ornament  of 
the  English  stage  and  of  English  litera- 
ture.     Might  not  that  line, 

"  With  what  I  most  enjoy,  contented  least," 

refer  to  the  fact,  that  although  he  loved 
the  drama,  he  was   ill-content   with    the 


PORTRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF. 


117 


parts  he  had  to  play,  with  the  dramas  in 
which  he  played,  and  with  the  people  be- 
fore whom  or  with  whom  he  played  ?  * 

Oh  that  some  Boswell,  some  scribbling 
gossip  who  knew  the  man,  had  only  put 
down  what  he  knew  of  him  !  Oh  that 
Burbage  or  Ben  Jonson  had  only  told  us 


*  Among  the  disputations  for  degrees  at  Oxford,  in  1593, 
one  was  on  the  question,  "  Are  players  infamous  ? "  And  it 
seems  they  were  decided  to  be  so.  (Clark's  Register  of  the 
University.)  Whether  the  players  were  infamous  or  not,  these 
Oxfordians  certainly  made  themselves  so,  by  coming  to  such 
a  decision.  How  could  a  great  dramatic  Poet  come  out  of 
such  a  crowd  ? 

Such,  however,  was,  among  certain  classes,  the  sentiment  of 
the  age.  Even  in  the  Poet's  own  town  of  Stratford,  the  Cor- 
poration took  stringent  measures,  in  1602  and  161 1,  to  prevent 
the  performance  of  plays  therein.  There  reigned  then  cer- 
tainly a  mayor  who  "  knew  not  Joseph."  M.  Taine  tells  us, 
the  actor's  profession  was  at  that  time  "  degraded  by  the  bru- 
talities of  the  crowd, — who  not  seldom  would  stone  the  actors, 
— and  by  the  severities  of  the  magistrates,  who  would  some- 
times condemn  them  to  lose  their  ears." 

Some  of  my  younger  readers  may  wonder  why  the  players 
of  that  day  are  always  spoken  of  as  "his  Majesty's  servants," 
or  as  "the  Lord  So-and-So's  servants."  Why,  if  they  could 
not  get  some  protection,  as  the  servants  of  some  great  man, 
they  would  be  arrested  and  imprisoned  as  vagrants  ! 

These  are  the  things  that  show  us  what  the  "  good  old  times  " 
were.  Is  it  any  wonder  that  the  learned  folk  did  not  think  it 
worth  while  to  take  any  notice  of  a  "  mere  player  "  and  play- 
wright ?     They  were  beneath  notice. 


1 1 8  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

something  of  his  early  struggles,  his  dis- 
appointments, his  defeats,  and  his  suc- 
cesses !  If  some  diarist  of  that  day, 
some  Pepys  or  Evelyn,  had  only  noted 
his  sayings  and  doings,  how  much  his 
notes  would  have  been  prized  !  Little 
did  they  imagine  who  knew  the  man,  and 
who  wrote  voluminously  of  the  king  and 
his  courtiers,  that  they  overlooked  the 
real  king  of  men,  the  most  princely  soul 
of  that  or  any  age,  and  wrote  only  of  his 
satellites !  Not  that  we  need  a  Boswell 
to  tell  us  what  manner  of  man  Shake- 
speare was  ;  not  that  we  need  any  such 
intimate  revealing  as  Boswell  eave  of 
Johnson  in  order  to  understand  his  char- 
acter ; — but  to  settle  the  idle  talk  of  those 
silly  dreamers  who,  unable  to  discover 
the  man  in  his  works,  are  bent  upon  hav- 
ing all  the  details  of  his  private  life,  if 
not  in  his  own  life,  at  least  in  those  of 
another.  You  may  start  any  doctrine 
or  proposition  you  please  ;  you  may  an- 
nounce yourself  the  apostle  of  the  most 
absolute  rhodomontade  that  ever  entered 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


II9 


the  human  brain  ;  and  if  you  only  scream 
long  and  loud  enough,  you  will  find  a 
host  of  followers  and  believers.  In  every 
age  and  in  every  country  there  is  a  class 
of  crotchety,  cranky  people,  who  are  so 
eager  for  novelties  and  oddities,  that 
they  will  swallow  anything  that  tickles 
the  palate  and  ministers  to  a  diseased 
appetite. 

How  often  have  I  regretted  that,  in 
those  instances  where  the  Poet's  name 
was  mentioned  by  one  of  his  contem- 
poraries, something  was  not  said  of 
his  looks,  his  manner,  or  his  character  ! 
Here  is  one  of  them.  Most  of  the  great 
commentators  on  Shakespeare's  plays 
have  contended  that,  from  internal  evi- 
dence, Measure  for  Measure  must  have 
been  composed  between  1609  and  161 2; 
but  it  is  now  known  that  it  was  played 
before  James  the  First,  at  Somerset 
House,  in  1604.  For  this  knowledge  we 
are  indebted  to  Mr.  Tylney,  who  was 
Master  of  the  Revels  at  this  time,  and 
who,  in  his  account  of  the  expenses  for 


1 20  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

this  year,  has  this  entry:  "  By  His  Maj- 
esty's Players :  on  St.  Stephen's  night, 
in  the  Hall,  a  play  called  '  Measure  for 
Measure,'  by  Mr.  Shaxberd." 

What  a  chance  Tylney  lost  for  grate- 
ful immortality  !  The  mere  mention  of 
the  name  of  the  playwright,  whose  name 
he  could  not  spell,  has  preserved  his  for 
three  hundred  years,  and  will  probably 
preserve  it  for  many  hundred  more.  But 
what  a  precious  thing  he  would  have  con- 
ferred on  us  had  "he  taken  the  trouble  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  "  Mr.  Shax- 
berd," and  noted  his  ways  and  sayings, 
or  said  something  interesting  of  him, 
along  with  this  item  !  How  much  we 
would  have  been  indebted  to  him  if  he 
had  only  written  as  much  as  I  have 
written  here,  on  this  page,  about  this 
humble  playwright,  whose  name  he  knew 
not  how  to  spell  !  O  young  man,  do  not 
fail,  when  you  come  in  contact  with 
genius,  to  use  your  eyes  and  ears  well, 
and  to  make  some  record  of  what  you 
have  seen  and  heard ;  for  you   may  thus 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  \  2 1 

not  only  confer  a  boon  on  posterity, 
but  a  pleasing  immortality  on  yourself  ! 
Who  would  not  like  to  have  his  name 
linked  in  immortal  association  with  that 
of  the  gentle  Shakespeare,  the  sweet 
bard  of  Avon  ! 


1 22  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEA RE 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE    INCIDENTS    OF    SHAKESPEARE'S    LIFE 

HIS    CONVERSATION HIS    WORKS. 

THE  stray  notices  of  Shakespeare 
found  here  and  there  in  the  writers 
of  his  time,  showing  when  he  probably 
wrote  such  a  play,  when  he  stopped  at 
such  a  place  or  played  such  a  character, 
when  he  had  so  many  shares  in  the  thea- 
ter, or  bought  such  a  piece  of  land,  have 
very  little  to  do  in  exhibiting  to  us  the 
man  Shakespeare,  the  poet  whose  works 
we  read  with  so  much  admiration.  It  is 
the  conversation,  the  thoughts,  feelings, 
hopes  and  fears,  aims  and  objects  of  a 
man  that  show  us  what  he  is  ;  and  the 
known  incidents  of  Shakespeare's  life 
show  us  few,  if  any,  of  these  things.  We 
know  little  of  the  man  except  what  we 
find  in  his  writings.  But  he  is  not  so  pe- 
culiar in   this  respect    as    many  imagine. 


POR  TEA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF. 


123 


"  The  great  dramatist,"  says  Mr.  Halli- 
well-Phillipps,  "  participates  in  the  fate  of 
most  of  his  literary  contemporaries  ;  for  if 
a  collection  of  the  known  facts  relating 
to  all  of  them  were  tabularly  arranged,  it 
would  be  found  that  the  number  of  the 
ascertained  particulars  of  his  life  reached 
at  least  the  average."  What  do  the  de- 
tails which  we  have  of  Massin^er's  life 
show  us  of  the  man  who  wrote  A  New 
Way  to  pay  Old  Debts  ?  What  do  the  few 
unhappy  stories  of  Otway's  career  show 
us  of  the  man  who  wrote  Venice  Pre- 
served? What  do  these  things  show  us 
of  the  daily  life  and  conversation  of  these 
men  ?  The  men  who  wrote  these  plays 
were  quite  different  men  from  those  who 
are  described  as  having  eaten  at  such  a 
place,  drunk  at  such  another,  and  starved 
at  such  another.  The  man  of  genius  is, 
in  the  composition  of  his  works,  and  in 
the  best  moments  of  his  social  life,  a 
burning  torch,  shedding  light  on  all 
around,  an  inspired  prophet  and  preacher, 
bringing  forth,  with  radiant  feature  and 
beaming  eye,  things  new  and  old  for  the 


124  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

edification  and  delectation  of  mankind. 
And  when  his  work  is  done,  and  he 
engages  in  the  ordinary  affairs  of  life,  he 
becomes  again  a  common  mortal,  think- 
ing, speaking,  acting,  eating  and  drink- 
ing like  any  other  common  mortal.  The 
men  we  see  in  the  biographies  are  often 
poor  wretched  creatures,  seeking  or  suing 
for  bread  among  people  who  did  not  un- 
derstand or  appreciate  them,  and  display- 
ing nothing  to  identify  them  with  their 
writing's.  For  it  is  notorious  that  men 
of  letters  have  generally  been  lacking 
in  that  worldly  wisdom  which  amasses 
wealth,  and  have  frequently  been  obliged 
to  submit  to  the  most  galling  humilia- 
tions to  receive  the  means  of  subsistence. 
"  I  saw  so  many  men  of  letters  poor  and 
despised,"  says  the  wise  Voltaire,  "  that  I 
made  up  my  mind  that  I  would  not  add 
to  their  number;"  and  I  am  inclined  to 
think  the  wise  Shakespeare  made  the 
same  resolution. 

What  man  of  any  culture  has  not  his 
moments  of  luminous  thought,  of  rare 
conceptions  and  bright  imaginings,  when 


PORTRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF. 


125 


conversation  flows  like  water,  and  the 
world  seems  lit  up  with  celestial  light  ? 
These  are  not  the  moments  for  ordinary 
acquaintance ;  but  for  that  genial,  inti- 
mate fellowship,  when  noble  souls  com- 
mune with  each  other,  and  appreciation 
kindles  inspiration.  Then  the  man  ex- 
hibits himself,  his  soul,  his  nature ;  and 
it  is  in  such  moments  that  he  does  his 
best  literary  work,  and  incarnates  his 
thoughts  in  a  work  of  art.  For  a  man  in 
his  best  mood  is  as  different  from  himself 
in  his  ordinary  mood  as  steel  is  different 
from  iron.  I  once  heard  a  gentleman 
say,  concerning  an  author  whose  writings 
he  greatly  admired,  that  he  did  not  care 
to  make  his  personal  acquaintance,  for 
he  was  sure  this  would  simply  disenchant 
him  :  "  A  man  of  genius,"  said  he,  "  is 
seldom  equal  to  himself  in  his  best  liter- 
ary work,  and  his  conversation  would 
therefore  fall  so  far  short  of  his  writings, 
that  I  should  be  sure  to  be  disenchanted." 
"If  you  have  a  hero,"  says  George  Eliot, 
"  do  not  make  a  journey  to  visit  him." 
This,  however,  is  not  always  the  case. 


i26  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

Some  men  of  genius  are  greater  in  their 
conversation  than  in  their  printed  works. 
This  was  the  case  with  Dr.  Johnson  and 
with  the  poet  Burns.  The  former  lives 
now  almost  solely  in  Boswell's  account 
of  his  talk,  and  Burns  is  reported,  by 
those  who  knew  him,  as  far  more  brilliant 
in  his  conversation  than  in  his  poetry. 
One  noble  lady  declared  that  Burns  was 
the  only  man  whose  talk  took  her  com- 
pletely off  her  feet.  From  the  few  no- 
tices that  have  come  down  to  us  of 
Shakespeare,  we  judge  he  must  have 
been  such  a  man  ;  fully  as  delightful  in 
his  conversation  as  in  his  writings,  de- 
lighting those  who  talked  with  him  as 
much  as  those  who  read  him.  The  lines 
which  first  suggested  this  essay  may  ena- 
ble us  to  form  some  idea  of  its  brilliancy. 
Probably  his  conversation  has  never  been 
surpassed  by  that  of  any  man  who  talked 
with  his  friends.  Wit  and  brilliancy  of 
talent  were  so  common  in  his  day,  that 
the  conversation  even  of  Shakespeare 
was  not  noted  as  anything  extraordinary. 
Yet  he  is  reported  by   several   to    have 


PORTKA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


127 


been  excellent  company,  "  with  a  very- 
ready  and  pleasant,  smooth  wit ; "  and 
there  is  little  doubt  that  he  was  the  head 
and  front  of  that  brilliant  company  who 
used  to  assemble  at  the  Mermaid  Tav- 
ern, whose  meetings  are  so  strikingly 
described  by  Francis  Beaumont,  the  com- 
mon friend  of  both  Jonson  and  Shake- 
speare : 

"  What  things  have  we  seen 
Done  at  the  Mermaid  !  heard  words  that  have  been 
So  nimble  and  so  full  of  subtle  flame, 
As  if  that  every  one  from  whom  they  came 
Had  meant  to  put  his  whole  wit  in  a  jest, 
And  had  resolved  to  live  a  fool  the  rest 
Of  his   dull  life.     There,  where   there   hath   been 

thrown 
Wit  and  mirth  enough  to  justify  the  town 
For  three  days  past ;  wit,  that  might  warrant  be 
For  the  whole  city  to  talk  foolishly 
Till  that  were  cancelled  ;    and,  when  that  was  gone, 
We  left  an  air  behind  us  which  alone 
Was  able  to  make  the  next  two  companies 
Right  witty." 

Now  let  the  reader  glance  for  a  mo- 
ment, once  again,  at  the  Archbishop's 
account  of  the  Prince's  talk,  and  judge 


I2g  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

whether    it    is  not   that  of  Shakespeare 
himself : 

Hear  him  but  reason  in  divinity, 

And,  all-admiring,  with  an  inward  wish, 

You  would  desire  the  king  were  made  a  prelate : 

Hear  him  debate  of  commonwealth  affairs, 

You  would  say,  it  hath  been  all-in-all  his  study  : 

List  .his  discourse  of  war,  and  you  shall  hear 

A  fearful  battle  rendered  you  in  music  : 

Turn  him  to  any  course  of  policy, 

The  Gordian  knot  of  it  he  will  unloose, 

Familiar  as  his  garter ;  that,  when  he  speaks, 

The  air,  a  chartered  libertine,  is  still, 

And  the  mute  wonder  lurketh  in  men's  ears 

To  steal  his  sweet  and  honeyed  sentences. 

Fuller,  who  was  almost  a  contemporary 
of  Shakespeare  (born  like  Milton,  in 
1608,  eight  years  before  Shakespeare's 
death),  makes  an  interesting  reference  to 
these  Mermaid  conferences,  at  which  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh  is  said  to  have  been  one 
of  the  participants  :  "  Many  were  the  wit- 
combats  between  Shakespeare  and  Ben 
Jonson,  which  two  I  behold  like  a  Span- 
ish great  galleon  and  an  English  man-of- 
war.  Master  Jonson,  like  the  former, 
was  built  far  higher  in  learning;    solid, 


PORTRAYED  BY  HIMSELF. 


129 


but  slow  in  his  performances.  Shake- 
speare, like  the  English  man-of-war,  lesser 
in  bulk  but  lighter  in  sailing,  could  turn 
with  all  tides,  tack  about,  and  take  ad- 
vantage of  all  winds  by  the  quickness  of 
his  wit  and  invention."  Could  there  be 
any  better  description  of  the  Prince's 
encounters  with  Falstaff?  Was  not  the 
Prince  the  liorht  English  man-of-war  as 
compared  with  the  Spanish  great  galleon 
Falstaff  ?  Of  course,  Falstaff  is  made 
the  wittier  of  the  two  ;  but  the  wit  of 
both  is  the  product  of  one  brain,  and  the 
exigencies  of  the  drama  required  that  the 
fat  knicrht  should  be  made  droller  and 
more  amusing  than  the  Prince  ;  for  he 
had  to  "bring  the  house  down"  oftencr 
than  the  Prince,  whose  dignity  would  be 
compromised  by  too  much  of  this  sort  of 
thing.  The  latter,  however,  held  his 
own  throughout,  and  was  always  a  foe- 
man  worthy  of  his  steel. 

If  any  one,  therefore,  wishes  to  enjoy 

Shakespeare's  conversations,  to  taste  what 

they  were  like,  he  must  not  seek  them  in 

lii-,  biography,  nor  in  the  biographies  of 

9 


130 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


Ben  Jonson  or  Beaumont  and  Fletcher; 
he  must  not  seek  them  in  any  of  the  me- 
moirs of  his  time;  for  in  none  of  these 
are  they  to  be  found;  —  no,  he  must 
seek  them  in  his  writings ;  in  the  First 
and  Second  Part  of  Henry  IV.  he  will 
find  them  in  all  their  freshness.  The 
Poet  is  there,  with  all  his  spirit,  life,  wit 
and  philosophy;  Ben  Jonson  is  there, 
with  all  his  sense,  humor,  and  raillery  ; 
Southampton,  Pembroke,  and  the  wise 
counsellors  of  the  reign  of  Elizabeth  are 
there,  with  all  their  wise  and  dignified 
speeches ;  the  hostess  and  divers  of  the 
frequenters  of  the  Mermaid  Tavern  are 
there,  with  all  their  quips,  cranks  and 
quiddities.  Nor  is  it  in  the  pages  of  the 
historians,  Hume,  Lingard,  or  Macaulay, 
that  he  will  find  the  personal  character 
and  conversation  of  the  rulers  of  that 
day  ;  but  in  the  living  pages  of  Shake- 
speare, which  present  not  only  the  spirit, 
but  the  flesh  and  blood  of  the  men. of 
the  time  ;  their  life  and  conversation  in 
those  moments  when  they  displayed  their 


PORTRAYED  BY  HIMSELF. 


131 


inward  selves,  and  showed  what  they 
really  were. 

There  were  no  reporters,  diarists,  in- 
terviewers in  Shakespeare's  time ;  and 
very  few  thought  it  worth  while  to  put 
down  in  black  and  white  anything  but 
great  political  events  and  the  movements 
of  royal  personages.  The  art  of  familiar 
correspondence  was  unknown.  In  fact, 
the  composition  of  a  letter  was,  at  that 
time,  about  as  formal  and  deliberate  a 
piece  of  business  as  writing  a  contract  is 
to-day ;  for  there  was  not  merely  the 
writing  of  the  letter,  but  the  folding, 
sealing,  addressing,  and  transmitting, 
which  were  all  much  more  difficult  than 
they  are  at  the  present  time,  requiring 
taste,  training  and  means  possessed  by 
few.  This  is  why  there  are  so  few  let- 
ters extant  from  that  day,  and  why  we 
know  so  little  of  the  private  lives  of  the 
great  men  of  the  time. 

When  the  great  dramas  of  Shake- 
speare were  coming  out,  hardly  anybody 
thought  it  worth  while  to  make  any 
written  mention   of   them  ;   hardly   a  soul 


!32  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

spoke  of  them  in  a  letter  to  a  friend. 
Now  the  production  of  a  new  play  or  an 
opera  is  telegraphed  over  the  world  ;  the 
correspondent  of  every  newspaper  gives 
an  account  of  it  ;  and  the  whole  history 
of  its  author  is  set  down  the  next  day  in 
the  newspapers.  Not  only  do  we  learn 
all  about  the  play  or  the  opera,  but  the 
habits  of  its  author  ;  what  he  eats,  drinks, 
and  wears ;  who  are  his  friends ;  what 
he  says,  and  what  books  he  reads.  In 
Shakespeare's  day,  a  man  could  be 
eminent  in  his  profession  without  being 
made  a  show  of.  Men  whose  deeds  have 
since  been  trumpeted  over  the  world 
lived  and  died  without  any  impertinent 
inquiries  being  made  into  their  private 
lives.  Greatness  was  so  common  that 
nobody  thought  it  worth  while  to  note 
with  pen  and  ink  the  doings  and  sayings 
of  "  a  mere  player;"  and  he  was  too  great 
a  man  to  do  it  himself.  He  was  not  of 
the  memoir-writing  kind  ;  nor  did  any  of 
his  friends  think  him  of  sufficient  impor- 
tance to  write  a  memoir  of  him,  or  even 
to  make  any  inquiry  into  his  life.      Fame 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  V  HIMSELF.  1 3  3 

he  seems  to  have  regarded  with  abso- 
lute indifference  ;  for  even  his  best  works 
might  have  perished  for  all  the  care  he 
took  of  them.  The  last  infirmity  of  noble 
minds  was  not  his.  We  are  not  sure  that 
a  single  play  of  his  was  published  with 
his  consent  in  his  lifetime.  What  was 
Hecuba  to  him,  or  he  to  Hecuba?  He 
knew  that,  after  his  death,  even  if  the 
whole  world  talked  of  him,  he  would 
probably  be  as  unconscious  of  it  as  the 
stone  that  rested  on  his  grave.* 

As  Victor  Hugo  observes,  he  came  near 
meeting  the  fate  of  /Eschylus,  whose 
works  were  burned  in  the  Alexandrian 
Library.  "  Shakespeare  also  had  his 
conflagration,"  says  Hugo.     "He  was  so 

*  This  extreme  modesty  of  Shakespeare  is  the  basis  of  one 
of  the  charges  against  him;  for  Mr.  Donnelly  maintains,  I 
believe,  that  he  never  claimed  the  plays  as  his  at  all.  What  ! 
did  all  the  various  quarto  editions  of  his  plays,  published  un- 
der his  name  in  his  lifetime,  and  never  questioned  as  other 
than  liis,  nor  ever  disowned  by  him,  form  no  claim  ?  How  is 
an  author's  claim  then  to  be  made  out?  Did  the  united  tes- 
timony of  his  contemporaries,  and  of  all  subsequent  genera- 
tions, form  no  claim ?  If  so,  then  no  man  may  lay  claim  to 
anything  that  he  possesses,  literary  or  otherwise,  except  it  be 
duly  registered  and  filed  under  his  name,  with  affidavits  and 
vouchers,  as  his  personal  property. 


134 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


little  printed,  printing  existing  so  little 
for  him,  thanks  to  the  stupid  indifference 
of  his  immediate  posterity,  that  in  1666 
there  was  still  but  one  edition  of  the 
poet  of  Stratford-on-Avon  (Hemynge 
and  Condell's  edition),  three  hundred 
copies  of  which  were  printed.  Shake- 
speare, with  this  obscure  and  pitiful  edi- 
tion awaiting  the  public  in  vain,  was  a 
sort  of  poor  but  proud  relative  of  the 
glorious  poets.  These  three  hundred 
copies  were  nearly  all  stored  up  in  Lon- 
don when  the  Fire  of  1666  broke  out. 
It  burned  London,  and  nearly  burned 
Shakespeare.  The  whole  edition  of 
Hemynge  and  Condell  disappeared,  with 
the  exception  of  the  forty-eight  copies 
which  had  been  sold  in  fifty  years. 
Those  forty-eight  purchasers  saved  the 
works  of  Shakespeare!" 

Forty-eight  copies  in  fifty  years  !  O 
disheartened  and  despondent  poet  !  how 
canst  thou  erumble  when  the  immortal 
Shakespeare  was  so  little  appreciated ! 
Poetry  is  food  for  the  gods,  of  whom 
there  are  few  in  any  country.     To  Hem- 


PORTRAYED  BY  FITJlfSELF. 


135 


ynge  and  Condell,  who  saved  Shake- 
speare from  the  fate  of  ^Eschylus,  and 
who  have  been  so  roughly  and  unthank- 
fully  treated  by  some  critics,  statues  will 
yet  be  erected. 

Victor  Hugo  is,  however,  as  he  often 
is  when  speaking  of  English  affairs, 
not  exactly  correct  in  his  statement  of 
facts  ;  for  there  were  two  other  editions 
printed  before  1666,  one  in  1632  and  an- 
other in  1663  ;  but  his  inferences  are 
practically  correct  nevertheless.  But  for 
Hemynge  and  Condell's  First  Folio,  we 
should,  according  to  Halliwell-Phillipps, 
never  have  heard  of  such  masterpieces 
as  the  Tempest,  Macbeth,  Twelfth  Night, 
Measure  for  Measure,  Cor iolanus,  Julius 
Ccesar,  Tim  on  of  Athejis,  Antony  and 
Cleopatra,  Cymbeline,  As  You  Like  It, 
and  Winter s  Tale.  How  easily  might 
these  plays  have  been  burnt !  and  how 
much  we  are  indebted  to  these  two 
friends  and  fellow-actors  of  Shakespeare 
for  preserving  them  by  print !  O  Guten- 
berg !  how  much  we  owe  to  thee  for 
thy    divine    invention,  the  art    preserva- 


j  36  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

tive  of  arts,  the  savior  of  the  works  of 
genius  !  Print  paralyzes  the  arm  of  the 
tyrant,  and  renders  the  works  of  genius 
indestructible.  Nevermore  shall  a  Nero 
or  an  Omar  have  any  power  over  such 
works ;  nevermore  shall  genius  be  either 
the  suppliant  or  the  victim  of  poten- 
tates and  princes.  Print  puts  them  be- 
yond the  power  of  any  human  being  to 
destroy  them.* 

And  now,  because  the  details  of  his 
life  are  wanting,  because  we  do  not  know 
the  names  of  his  teachers,  the  cut  of  his 
clothes,  the  color  of  his  eyes,  the  price 
of  his  dinner,  or  the  amount  of  his  salary, 
the  triflers  and  cranks,  the  gadders  after 
personalities  and  novelties,  the  seekers 
after  signs  and  wonders,  the  worshippers 
of  rank  and  classic  culture,  the  people 
who  are  too  dull  to  see  the  man  in  his 
writings,  and  who  cannot  conceive  of  a 
man  being  cultivated  and  refined  without 

*  Curiously  enough,  of  these  three  hundred  copies  of  the 
First  Folio,  thirteen  are,  according  to  Mr.  Fleming,  in  the  pos- 
session of  New  Yorkers,  which  speaks  volumes  for  the  taste 
and  appreciation  of  the  Empire  City.  See  Shakespeariana  for 
March,  1888. 


PORTRAYED   BY  HIMSELF.  j^y 

university  polish,  are  trying  to  rob  him  of 
his  fair  name  and  fame,  and  to  add  both 
to  those  of  another,  already  full  of  hon- 
ors for  work  of  an  entirely  different  kind, 
and  famous  as  lawyer,  legislator,  philos- 
opher, and  essayist ! 

"  For  now  the  Poet  cannot  die 
Nor  leave  his  music  as  of  old  ; 
But  round  him  ere  he  scarce  be  cold 
Begins  the  scandal  and  the  cry  : 

u  '  Proclaim  the  faults  he  would  not  show : 
Break  lock  and  seal :  betray  the  trust : 
Keep  nothing  sacred  ;  'tis  but  just 
The  many-headed  Beast  should  know  ! ' 

"  Ah,  shameless  !  for  he  did  but  sing 

A  song  that  pleased  us  from  its  worth  ; 
No  public  life  was  his  on  earth  ; 
No  blazoned  statesman  he,  nor  king. 

"  He  gave  the  people  of  his  best ; 

His  worst  he  kept ;  his  best  he  gave, 
My  Shakespeare's  curse  on  clown  and  knave 
Who  will  not  let  his  ashes  rest ! " 

It  is  worthy  of  notice,  that  the  really 
great  men  of  literature,  those  who  appre- 
ciated Shakespeare  most  highly  and  crit- 
icised   his    works    most    ably,    never    for 


133 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


a  moment  questioned  his  right  to  what 
went  under  his  name,  never  once  imagined 
that  because  he  was  little  noticed  and  less 
written  about  in  his  day,  he  was  not  the 
author  of  the  immortal  dramas.  If  any 
man  knew  the  advantages  of  a  classic 
education,  surely  that  man  was  Coleridge. 
With  what  scorn  he  would  have  regarded 
the  attempt  to  foist  the  works  of  Shake- 
speare on  Lord  Bacon  !  Not  only  Cole- 
ridge, but  Hazlitt,  Goethe,  Gervinus,  and 
the  rest  would  have  regarded  it  with 
derision.  As  for  Miss  Delia  Bacon's 
book  on  Shakespeare, — the  book  that  first 
started  the  whole  foolish  controversy, — 
it  is  simply  learning  gone  mad,  the  most 
far-fetched  and  cranky  thing  ever  penned. 
Buzfuz's  "  chops  and  tomato-sauce"  is 
nothing  to  it ;  Swift's  plan  for  extract- 
ing sunbeams  from  cucumbers  is  sensible 
compared  with  it ;  Macpherson's  claims 
for  Ossian  are  reasonable  and  probable 
compared  with  it.  Nothing  out  of  Bed- 
lam can  equal  the  astounding  deductions 
she  makes  from  his  plays.  The  most 
crazy    religious    enthusiast    never   inter- 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  x  ^g 

preted  passages  in  the  Scriptures  in  a 
more  extraordinary  manner  than  Miss 
Delia  Bacon  interpreted  passages  in  Ba- 
con's works  and  Shakespeare's  plays.* 

*  I  did  not  know,  when  I  wrote  this,  that  this  unhappy  lady, 
Miss  Delia  Bacon,  ended  her  career  in  an  insane  asylum. 
Had  I  been  aware  of  this  fact,  I  should  not,  perhaps,  have 
used  such  strong  language.  Some  Baconians  assert,  that  the 
severe  criticisms  on  her  book,  and  the  ridicule  heaped  upon 
her  by  all  classes,  were  the  cause  of  her  malady  ;  but  the  truth 
is,  judging  from  her  work,  she  must  have  been  predisposed  to 
insanity ;  for  I  never,  in  my  whole  life,  read  a  book  that 
looked  so  little  like  anything  reasonable  or  sensible. 


140 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE    KNOWN    TRAITS  OF   SHAKESPEARE  COM- 
PARED WITH  THOSE  OF  THE  PRINCE. 


I  "''HOUGH  the  Prince's  character 
may  be  seen  in  almost  every  scene 
of  the  play,  its  real  dignity  and  inner 
beauty  come  out  more  strongly  in  the 
interviews  between  himself  and  his  father 
than  in  any  other.  Here  he  shows  him- 
self in  his  true  colors  as  an  honest,  loving 
son,  a  faithful  subject,  and  a  patriotic 
prince.  "  Frank,  liberal,  prudent,  gentle, 
yet  brave  as  Hotspur  himself,"  says  Mr. 
Knight,  "the  Prince  shows  that  even  in 
his  wildest  excesses  he  has  drunk  deeply 
of  the  fountains  of  truth  and  wisdom. 
The  wisdom  of  the  king  is  that  of  a  cold 
and  subtle  politician  ; — Hotspur  seems 
to  stand  out  from  his  followers  as  the 
haughty  feudal  lord,   too  proud  to  have 


PORTRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF. 


141 


listened  to  any  teacher  but  his  own  will ; 
— but  the  Prince,  in  casting  away  the 
dignity  of  his  station  to  commune  freely 
with  his  fellow-men,  has  attained  that 
strength  which  is  above  all  conventional 
power ;  his  virtues  as  well  as  his  frailties 
belong  to  our  common  humanity ;  the 
virtues  capable,  therefore,  of  the  highest 
elevation,  and  the  frailties  not  pampered 
into  crimes  by  the  artificial  incentives  of 
social  position." 

Although  he  is  a  soldier,  and  brave  as 
brave  can  be,  he  is  represented  as  loving 
peace  and  hating  bloodshed  :  "I  am  not 
yet  of  Percy's  mind,  the  Hotspur  of  the 
North,"  he  says  ;  "  he  that  kills  me  some 
six  or  seven  dozen  Scots  at  a  breakfast, 
washes  his  hands,  and  says  to  his  wife, 
'  Fie  upon  this  quiet  life  !  I  want  work.' 
Oh  no ;  he  prefers  intellectual  combats 
to  physical  ones,  the  play  of  spiritual 
weapons  to  material  ones ;  he  prefers 
wine,  wit,  and  wisdom  to  the  clash  of  arms 
and  the  roar  of  cannon  ;  genial,  social  in- 
tercourse, with  witty  sallies  and  lively 
repartees,  to  the  mustering  of  troops  and 


142 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


the  din  of  battle.  Is  not  this  the  Shake- 
speare described  by  his  contemporaries  ? 
Is  not  this  the  Shakespeare  that  we  know 
from  all  accounts  ?  Even  when  he  be- 
comes king,  and  is  urged  by  the  lords 
spiritual  to  make  war  on  France,  see  with 
what  anxiety  he  counts  the  cost,  with 
what  solicitude  he  looks  to  the  miseries 
it  will  entail : 

We  charge  you,  in  the  name  of  God,  take  heed ; 
For  never  two  such  kingdoms  did  contend 
Without  much  fall  of  blood  ;  whose  guiltless  drops 
Are  every  one  a  woe,  a  sore  complaint, 
'Gainst  him  whose  wrongs  give  edge  unto  the  swords 
That  make  such  waste  in  brief  mortality. 

"  Brief  mortality,"  indeed  !  he  felt  that 
life  was  all  too  short  without  having 
it  curtailed  by  violence.  His  hatred  of 
bloodshed  was  exhibited,  indeed,  long 
before  he  became  king.  To  prevent  the 
fratricidal  slaughter  of  his  countrymen  in 
battle,  he  thus  offers  to  fight  in  single 
combat  the  most  renowned  warrior  of  his 
day  : 

Prince.     In  both  our  armies  there   is  many  a  soul 
Shall  pay  full  dearly  for  this  encounter, 


POR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  Y  43 

If  once  they  join  in  trial.     Tell  your  nephew 

The  prince  of  Wales  doth  join  with  all  the  world 

In  praise  of  Henry  Percy.     By  my  hopes, 

This  present  enterprise  set  off  his  head, 

I  do  not  think  a  braver  gentleman, 

More  active-valiant,  or  more  valiant-young, 

More  daring,  or  more  bold,  is  now  alive 

To  grace  this  latter  age  with  noble  deeds. 

For  my  part,  I  may  speak  it  to  my  shame, 

I  have  a  truant  been  to  chivalry, 

And  so  I  hear  he  doth  account  me  too  ; 

Yet  this  before  my  father's  majesty : 

I  am  content,  that  he  shall  take  the  odds 

Of  his  great  name  and  estimation, 

And  will,  to  save  the  blood  on  either  side, 

Try  fortune  with  him  in  a  single  fight. 

And    when    Hotspur,    hearing    of    the 
challenge,  asks, 

How  showed  his  tasking  ?  seemed  it  in  contempt  ? 

Sir  Richard  Vernon  replies   thus   beauti- 
fully : 

No,  by  my  soul  :  I  never  in  my  life 

Did  hear  a  challenge  urged  more  modestly, 

Unless  a  brother  should  a  brother  dare 

To  gentle  exercise  and  proof  of  arms. 

He  gave  you  all  the  duties  of  a  man, 

Trimmed  up  your  praises  with  a  princely  tongue, 

Spoke  your  deservings  like  a  chronicle, 


I44  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

Making  you  ever  better  than  his  praise, 

By  still  dispraising  praise,  valued  with  you  ; 

And,  which  became  him  like  a  prince  indeed, 

He  made  a  blushing  cital  of  himself ; 

And  chid  his  truant  youth  with  such  a  grace, 

As  if  he  mastered  there  a  double  spirit, 

Of  teaching,  and  of  learning,  instantly. 

There  did  he  pause  :  but  let  me  tell  the  world, 

If  he  outlive  the  envy  of  this  day, 

England  did  never  owe  so  sweet  a  hope, 

So  much  misconstrued  in  his  wantonness. 

The  modesty  of  Shakespeare  is  prover- 
bial ;  he  never  speaks  of  himself  directly  ; 
he  never  advances  any  views  that  we 
know  to  be  his  own  individually ;  all 
these  things  are  foreign  to  his  nature. 
But  here,  in  disguise,  he  freely  and 
truly  paints  himself,  justly  imagining 
the  Prince  to  be  such  a  man  as  he  was, 
and  justly  and  without  any  other  desire 
than  painting  a  true  character,  following 
the  highest  instincts  of  his  nature.  Con- 
sider, therefore,  how  near  these  lines 
touch  him  : 

He  made  a  blushing  cital  of  himself; 
And  chid  his  truant  youth  with  such  a  grace, 
As  if  he  mastered  there  a  double  spirit, 
Of  teaching,  and  of  learning,  instantly. 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  j. 4$ 

"  A  blushing  cital  of  himself,"  and  "  a 
double  spirit  of  teaching  and  of  learning  !  " 
Could  anything  be  more  like  the  Poet  ? 
Is  it  not  largely  on  account  of  his  modest 
nature  that  we  know  so  little  of  him  ? 
Can  we  not  conceive  that  his  conversation 
was  of  this  (caching  and  learning  char- 
acter ?  Who  ever  learned  and  who  ever 
taught  as  he  did?  His  talks  with  his 
friends  and  companions  would  surely  have 
been  of  such  a  character.  And  then  how 
true  to  the  letter  did  he  make  these  lines  : 

Let  me  tell  the  world, 
If  he  outlive  the  envy  of  this  day, 
England  did  never  owe  so  sweet  a  hope, 
So  much  misconstrued  in  his  wantonness. 

To  partake  in  an  encounter  of  wits,  to 
cross  intellectual  swords  with  a  foeman 
worthy  of  his  steel,  the  Prince  was  will- 
ing to  go  extraordinary  lengths ;  and 
who  will  deny  that  Shakespeare,  to  enjoy 
an  uncommon  intellectual  treat,  would 
be  willing  to  have  a  tete-a-tete  with  the 
devil  himself  ?  Hence  the  extraordinary 
companions  the  Prince  draws  around 
him  ;  hence  the  extraordinary  situations 
10 


146 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


he  gets  into  for  a  prince.  When  he  re- 
solves to  appear  before  Falstaff  and  his 
mistress  as  a  drawer  or  pot-boy,  he  ex- 
claims :  "  From  a  prince  to  a  'prentice  ! 
a  low  transformation !  That  shall  be 
mine  ;  for  in  everything  the  purpose  must 
weigh  with  the  folly!  '  Witness  his  ex- 
traordinary delight  at  the  wit  of  FalstafT's 
page,  and  his  immediate  reward  of  him 
therefor : 

Poins By  the   mass,   here   comes  Bar- 

dolph. 

Prince.     And  the  boy  that  I  gave    Falstaff  :  he 
had  him   from  me  Christian  ;  and  look,  if  the  fat 
villain  have  not  transformed  him  ape  ! 
Enter  Bardolph  a?id  Page. 

Bard.     God  save  your  grace  ! 

Prince.     And  yours,  most  noble  Bardolph. 

Bard.  [To  the  Page.]  Come,  you  virtuous  ass, 
you  bashful  fool,  must  you  be  blushing?  wherefore 
blush  you  now  ? 

Page.  He  called  me  even  now,  my  lord,  through 
a  red  lattice,  and  I  could  discern  no  part  of  his 
face  from  the  window  ;  at  last  I  spied  his  eyes  ;  and 
me  thought  he  had  made  two  holes  in  the  ale-wife's 
new  red  petticoat,  and  peeped  through  ! 

Prince.     Hath  not  the  boy  profited  ? 

Bard.     Away,  you  upright  rabbit,  away  ! 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


H7 


Page.     Away,  you  rascally  Althea's  dream,  away ! 

Prince.     Instruct  us,  boy  ;  what  dream,  boy  ? 

Page.  Marry,  my  lord,  Althea  dreamt  she  was 
delivered  of  a  firebrand ;  and  therefore  I  call  him 
her  dream.     \Bardolph  had  a  very  red  nose.] 

Pri?ice.  A  crown's  worth  of  good  interpretation. 
— There  it  is,  boy.  [Gives  him  money. 

Poifis.  0,  that  this  good  blossom  could  be  kept 
from  cankers  ! — Well,  there  is  sixpence  to  preserve 
thee. 

Would  not  Shakespeare  be  just  the 
man  to  reward  the  witty  gamin  for  a 
stroke  of  this  kind  ? 

There  is  one  other  sentence  of  the 
Prince's,  uttered  just  before  the  merry- 
meeting,  and  after  his  practical  joke 
with  Francis,  which  has  always  seemed 
to  me  marvellously  significant.  Most 
writers,  when  they  will  give  a  picture  of 
the  poet,  quote  the  famous  lines : 

The  poet's  eye  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling, 
Doth  glance    from  heaven  to  earth,  from  earth  to 
heaven  :  etc. 

But,  to  my  thinking,  these  words  addressed 
by  the  Prince  to  Poins  give  a  far  truer 
picture  of  such  a  character  :  "  I  am  now 
of    all   humors,   that  have  showed  them- 


148 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


selves    humors,    since    the    old    days    of 
goodman    Adam,    to    the    pupil    age    of 
this  present  twelve  o'clock  at  midnight." 
Of  all  humors  !     Truly,   the  very  pic- 
ture of  poets.     Of  how  many  poets  do  we 
not  know  this  to  have  been  precisely  the 
character?     Is  not  the  history  of    Cole- 
ridge,  Byron,   Shelley,    Burns,   Poe,  and 
the  rest  a  history  of  men  "  of  all  humors," 
"  of  jars  all  compact,"  guilty  of  such  ex- 
travaeant  freaks  that    men  of    common- 
sense  have  usually  set  them  down  as  un- 
canny?    Sometimes   guilty    of  the   most 
fantastic  tricks  and  wild  extravagances ; 
sometimes  down  in    the  deepest    depths 
of    melancholy ;    sometimes    up     in    the 
hiehest   heights    of  heaven  ;    sometimes 
all   that  is   holy  and  devout ;  sometimes 
all  that  is  wicked  and  devilish, — they  go 
beyond    the   bounds    observed    by  other 
men.     Turn  to  the  history  of  almost  any 
of    our  modern  English  poets,  and  you 
shall    find   them    to    have  been    "  of  all 
humors,  that   have    showed    themselves 
humors,  since  the  old  days  of  goodman 
Adam."     And  Shakespeare,  though  wise 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  j  4g 

and  prudent  beyond  most  poets,  was  not' 
different  from  them  in  this  respect.  We 
know  that  he  had  his  humors,  his  freaks, 
his  practical  jokes,  his  wild  youthful  es- 
capades, and  that  his  very  death  was 
caused  by  a  merry  meeting  among 
old  friends  and  fellow-poets.  Yet  he  is 
known  for  such  gentleness  of  disposition 
and  such  kindness  of  manner  that  Mat- 
thew Arnold's  description  of  Shelley's 
character  might  stand  for  that  of  our 
Poet  :  "  A  man  of  marvellous  gentleness, 
of  feminine  refinement,  with  gracious  and 
considerate  manner,  '  a  perfect  gentle- 
man,' entirely  without  arrogance  or  ag- 
gressive egotism,  completely  devoid  of 
the  proverbial  and  ferocious  vanity  of 
authors  and  poets,  always  disposed  to 
make  little  of  his  own  work  and  to  pre- 
fer that  of  others,  of  reverent  enthusiasm 
for  the  great  and  wise,  of  high  and  ten- 
der seriousness,  of  heroic  generosity,  and 
of  a  delicacy  in  rendering  services  which 
was  equal  to  his  generosity."  Who  will 
say  that  these  words  might  not    be   ap- 


i5o 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


plied    to    the   great  dramatist,   or  to  his 
image,  the  Prince  ? 

But  the  Prince  was  a  soldier.  Well, 
so  were  many  eminent  poets  and  philoso- 
phers ;  so  were  yEschylus,  Socrates,  Cer- 
vantes, and  Ben  Jonson  ; — and  I  have 
not  a  doubt  that  Shakespeare  could,  had 
he  been  so  minded,  have  distinguished 
himself  in  the  field  as  he  did  elsewhere ; 
for,  like  these  his  great  predecessors  and 
contemporaries,  he  was  as  heroic  in 
character  as  he  was  noble  and  grand  in 
thought.  Although  philosopher  enough 
to  "  daff  the  world  aside  and  bid  it  pass," 
he  could,  when  required,  have  matched 
with  the  bravest  or  the  ablest  in  the  field. 
If  we  follow  the  Prince  through  his  cam- 
paigns  as  king,  we  find  high  thoughts 
and  brave  actions  going  hand  in  hand  ; 
and  had  the  Poet  been  actually  king,  we 
may  be  sure  the  one  would  have  accom- 
panied the  other  as  the  night  the  day. 
What  actual  king  ever  thought  so  highly, 
spoke  so  eloquently,  acted  so  nobly,  or 
fought  so  heroically  as  did  Shakespeare's 
Henry  the    Fifth  ?     Consider    for  a  mo- 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  j.  5  r 

ment  one  of  his  speeches  to  his  army, 
and  tell  me  if  the  man  Shakespeare 
might   not  have  spoken  thus: 

Once   more  unto  the   breach,    dear   friends,    once 

more  ; 
Or  close  the  wall  up  with  our  English  dead ! 
In  peace,  there's  nothing  so  becomes  a  man, 
As  modest  stillness  and  humility  ; 
But  when  the  blast  of  war  blows  in  our  ears, 
Then  imitate  the  action  of  the  tiger  : 
Stiffen  the  sinews,  summon  up  the  blood, 
Disguise  fair  nature  with  hard-favored  rage  : 
Then  lend  the  eye  a  terrible  aspect ; 
Let  it  pry  through  the  portage  of  the  head, 
Like  the  brass  cannon  ;   let  the  brow  o'erwhelm  it 
As  fearfully  as  doth  a  galled  rock 
O'erhang  and  jutty  his  confounded  base, 
Swilled  with  the  wild  and  wasteful  ocean. 
Now  set  the  teeth,  and  stretch  the  nostril  wide ; 
Hold  hard  the  breath,  and  bend  up  every  spirit 
To  his  full  height ! — On,  on,  you  noblest  English  ! 
Whose  blood  is  fetched  from  fathers  of  war-proof ! 
Fathers,  that,  like  so  many  Alexanders, 
Have  in  these  parts  from  morn  till  even  fought, 
And  sheathed  their  swords  for  lack  of  argument. 

Vmor  not  your  mothers  :  now  attest, 
That  those  whom  you  called  fathers  did  beget  you. 
Be  copy  now  to  men  of  grosser  blood, 
And  teach  them  how  to  war. — And  you,  good  yeo- 
men, 


152 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


Whose  limbs  were  made  in  England,  show  us  here 

The  mettle  of  your  pasture  :  let  us  swear 

That  you  are  worth  your  breeding  ;   which    I    doubt 

not, 
For  there  is  none  of  you  so  mean  and  base, 
That  hath  not  noble  luster  in  your  eyes. 
I  see  you  stand  like  greyhounds  in  the  slips, 
Straining  upon  the  start.     The  game's  afoot : 
Follow  your  spirit ;  and,  upon  this  charge, 
Cry — God  for  Harry  !  England  !  and  St.  George  ! 

Although  a  good  soldier  and  brave 
man,  the  Prince  had,  however,  like  the 
man  whom  he  represented,  far  too  mer- 
ciful a  disposition  and  compassionate  a 
heart  for  a  soldier  of  his  day.  No  sol- 
dier of  that  day,  nor  hardly  any  of  this, 
would  ever  have  addressed  the  inhabitants 
of  a  city,  which  he  was  about  to  assault 
and  plunder,  as  this  soldier  addressed  the 
inhabitants  of  Harfleur.  When  Bliicher 
first  saw  London,  after  the  battle  of 
Waterloo,  his  natural  exclamation  was, 
"  What  a  city  to  plunder  !  "  Compare 
this  with  King  Henry's  address  to  the 
Harfleurians.  See  how  fearfully  con- 
scious he  is  of  the  horrors  of  war  ! 


PORTRAYED  BY  HIMSELF. 


153 


Before  the  Gates  of  Harfleur. 
The  Governor  and  some  Citizens   on   the    Walls  ;   the 

English  Forces  below.     Enter  King   Henry   and 

his  Train. 

K.  Hen.     How  yet  resolves  the  governor  of  the 
town  ? 
This  is  the  latest  parle  we  will  admit : 
Therefore,  to  our  best  mercy  give  yourselves, 
Or,  like  to  men  proud  of  destruction, 
Defy  us  to  our  worst :  for,  as  I  am  a  soldier, 
(A  name  that,  in  my  thoughts,  becomes  me  best,) 
If  I  begin  the  battery  once  again, 
I  will  not  leave  the  half-achieved  Harfleur, 
Till  in  her  ashes  she  lie  buried. 
The  gates  of  mercy  shall  be  all  shut  up  ; 
And  the  flesh'd  soldier,  rough  and  hard  of  heart, 
In  liberty  of  bloody  hand,  shall  range 
With  conscience  wide  as  hell  ;  mowing  like  grass 
Your  fresh  fair  virgins,  and  your  flowering  infants. 
What  is  it  then  to  me,  if  impious  war, 
Array'd  in  flames,  like  to  the  prince  of  fiends, 
Do,  with  his  smirch'd  complexion,  all  fell  feats 
Enlink  to  waste  and  desolation  ? 
What  is't  to  me,  when  you  yourselves  are  cause, 
If  your  pure  maidens  fall  into  the  hand 
Of  hot  and  forcing  violation  ? 
What  rein  can  hold  licentious  wickedness, 
When  down  the  hill  he  holds  his  fierce  career? 
We  may  as  bootless  spend  our  vain  command 
Upon  the  enraged  soldiers  in  their  spoil, 
As  send  precepts  to  the  Leviathan 


154 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


To  come  ashore.     Therefore,  you  men  of  Harfleur, 

Take  pity  of  your  town,  and  of  your  people, 

Whiles  yet  my  soldiers  are  in  my  command  ; 

Whiles  yet  the  cool  and  temperate  wind  of  grace 

O'erblows  the  filthy  and  contagious  clouds 

Of  deadly  murder,  spoil,  and  villany. 

If  not,  why,  in  a  moment,  look  to  see 

The  blind  and  bloody  soldier  with  foul  hand 

Defile  the  locks  of  your  shrill-shrieking  daughters  ; 

Your  fathers  taken  by  the  silver  beards, 

And  their  most  reverend  heads  dashed  to  the  walls  ; 

Your  naked  infants  spitted  upon  pikes ; 

Whiles  the  mad  mothers  with  their  howls  confus'd 

Do  break  the  clouds,  as  did  the  wives  of  Jewry 

At  Herod's  bloody-hunting  slaughtermen. 

What  say  you  ?  will  you  yield,  and  this  avoid  ? 

Or,  guilty  in  defence,  be  thus  destroy'd  ? 

Gov.     Our  expectation  hath  this  day  an  end : 
The  dauphin,  whom  of  succor  we  entreated, 
Returns  us — that  his  powers  are  not  yet  ready 
To  raise  so  great  a  siege.     Therefore,   dread  king, 
We  yield  our  town,  and  lives,  to  thy  soft  mercy  : 
Enter  our  gates  ;  dispose  of  us,  and  ours  ; 
For  we  no  longer  are  defensible. 

K.  Hen.     Open  your  gates. — Come  uncle  Exeter, 
Go  you  and  enter  Harfleur;  there  remain, 
And  fortify  it  strongly  'gainst  the  French  : 
Use  mercy  to  them  all. 

This   was    not    a    man    who,  like  the 
Spanish    generals    in    the     Netherlands, 


PORTRA  YED  B  V  HIMSELF. 


155 


could  make  terms  of  surrender  with  the 
inhabitants  of  a  city,  and  then  give  them 
up  to  indiscriminate  slaughter.  Not 
only  does  he  see  and  anxiously  appre- 
hend all  the  horrors  of  the  assaulting 
and  plundering  of  the  city,  but  he  feels 
profound  pity  on  the  inhabitants  at  the 
dread  prospect,  and  eloquently  beseeches 
them  to  have  pity  on  themselves  ! 

But  I  wished  to  draw  the  reader's 
attention  to  the  Prince's  character  as 
displayed  in  his  interviews  with  his  fa- 
ther. Bolingbroke  was  a  politician  ;  Mr. 
Knight  calls  him  "a  cold,  subtle  politi- 
cian ; "  he  was,  nevertheless,  according 
to  Shakespeare,  a  wise  and  thoughtful 
man.  John  Shakespeare,  the  father  of 
the  Poet,  was  also  a  politician  in  his 
way,  and  a  man  of  no  mean  character  ; 
for  he  gradually  fought  his  way  up, 
from  various  subordinate  and  inferior 
positions,  to  be  chief  magistrate  of  his 
native  town,  and  was  a  man  of  more  than 
common  force  of  character.  The  bare 
fact  that  he  held  all  the  various  offices 
which   he  filled  without    any   knowledge 


I  5 6  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

of  letters  is  proof  positive  that  the  man 
was  a  ruler  of  men  by  right  of  nature, 
by  divine  right  :  he  won  his  position  by 
sheer  superiority  of  character.  Although 
he  could  not  write  his  own  name,  he 
dominated  over  all  those  in  Stratford  that 
could ;  he  was  their  leading  and  fore- 
most man  in  all  important  affairs :  the 
patron  and  friend  of  actors  and  artists  ; 
the  man  who  came  forward  to  receive  the 
great  ones  of  the  earth  (including  per- 
haps Queen  Elizabeth  herself)  when  such 
came  officially  to  the  town,  and  the  man 
who  patriotically  guarded  its  interests. 
For  his  office  of  chamberlain  of  the  bor- 
ough is  described  as  one  of  great  re- 
sponsibility, and  that  of  bailiff  or  mayor 
as  the  highest  honor  that  the  corpora- 
tion could  bestow  ;  so  that  he  was  lit- 
erally "  a  king  of  men "  among  those 
over  whom  he  ruled. 

The  circumstance  (shown  by  all  his 
biographers)  that  Shakespeare  helped  his 
father  with  his  very  first  earnings  in  Lon- 
don, is  also  ah  interesting  and  significant 
fact ;  it  displays  a  dutiful  and  loving  son, 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


157 


and  infers  a  worthy  father ;  and  when  we 
remember  that  the  Prince  breaks  Fal- 
staff's  head  for  "  likening  his  father  to  a 
singing  man  of  Windsor  ;  "  that  he  tells 
Poins  "  his  heart  bleeds  inwardly  that 
his  father  is  so  sick,"  and  that  Shake- 
speare loyally  stood  by  his  father  and 
actually  obtained  papers  from  the  herald's 
office  to  make  him  legally  a  gentleman, 
we  cannot  but  infer  that  these  facts  hold 
together  and  coincide.  Do  not  these 
things  show  that  he  honored  his  father 
and  stood  by  him  in  trouble  ?  and  did  not 
the  Prince  do  the  same  ? 

We  may  be  sure,  from  the  fact  that 
John  Shakespeare  was  considered  worthy 
of  receiving  in  marriage  the  hand  of  a 
woman  of  birth  and  fortune,  a  woman 
belonging  to  one  of  the  most  ancient  and 
honorable  families  in  Warwickshire,  that 
he  was  known  and  respected  as  a  man  of 
superior  character,  of  innate  worth  and 
respectability,  among  all  his  neighbors. 
His  wife,  whose  maiden  name  was  Mary 
Arden,  was  the  daughter  of  Robert  Ar- 
den  of  Wilmecote,  a  gentleman  of  good 


I  5  8  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

landed  estate,  and  descendant  of  Sir 
John  Arden,  squire  of  the  body  of  Henry 
VII.  "  Mary  Arden,"  says  Mr.  T.  Spen- 
cer Baynes,  in  his  admirable  account  of 
Shakespeare  in  the  ll  Encyclopaedia  Bri- 
tannica,"  "was  a  gentlewoman  in  the 
truest  sense  of  the  term,  and  she  would 
bring  into  her  husband's  household  ele- 
ments of  character  and  culture  that 
would  be  of  priceless  value  to  the  family, 
and  especially  to  the  eldest  son,  who  nat- 
urally had  the  first  place  in  her  care  and 
love.  A  good  mother  is  to  an  imagina- 
tive boy  his  earliest  ideal  of  womanhood, 
and  in  her,  for  him,  are  gathered  up,  in  all 
their  vital  fulness,  the  tenderness,  sym- 
pathy, and  truth,  the  infinite  love,  patient 
watchfulness,  and  self-abnegation  of  the 
whole  sex.  And  the  experience  of  his 
mother's  bearing  and  example  during  the 
vicissitudes  of  their  home-life  must  have 
been  for  the  future  dramatist  a  vivid  rev- 
elation of  the  more  sprightly  and  gra- 
cious, as  well  as  of  the  profounder  ele- 
ments, of  female  character.  In  the  ear- 
lier   and    prosperous    days    at   Stratford, 


PORTRA  YED  B  V  HIMSELF. 


159 


when  all  within  the  home-circle  was 
bright  and  happy,  and  in  her  intercourse 
with  her  boy,  Mary  Shakespeare  could 
freely  unfold  the  attractive  qualities  that 
had  so  endeared  her  to  her  father's 
heart ;  the  delightful  image  of  the  young 
mother  would  melt  unconsciously  in  the 
boy's  mind,  fill  his  imagination,  and  be- 
come a  storehouse  whence  in  after  years 
he  would  draw  some  of  the  finest  lines  in 
his  matchless  portraiture  of  women." 

Now,  then,  being  so  fathered  and  so 
mothered,  might  not  Shakespeare,  when 
composing  the  scenes  between  the  Prince 
and  his  father,  have  in  mind  something 
of  the  manner  and  language  which  his 
own  father  used  in  reasoning  with  him 
on  his  early  excesses  and  imprudences  ? 
Might  he  not  have  still  fresh  in  mind 
how  he  too  violated  the  law,  of  which 
his  father  was  a  pillar,  and  on  ac- 
count of  which  his  father's  reprimands 
must  have  been  all  the  more  severe  ? 
And  might  not  some  tinge  of  this  recol- 
lection be  the  originator  and  prompter 
of   these   remarkably  interesting,    touch- 


:6o  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

ing  and  instructive  scenes  between  the 
Prince  and  his  father  ?  So  that  the 
reader  will  perceive  that  these  scenes  are 
still  in  keeping  with  my  view  that  the 
Poet  depicted  himself  in  the  Prince,  and 
that  he  still  drew  from  personal  experi- 
ences in  writing  these  passages.  Let 
the  reader  turn  to  the  Fourth  Scene  in 
the  Fourth  Act  of  the  Second  Part  of 
Henry  the  Fourth, — too  long  to  be  in- 
serted here, — and  judge  for  himself ;  let 
him  read  these  passages  carefully,  and 
he  will  perceive  that  they  are  simply  the 
natural  conferences  of  father  and  son, 
drawn  by  the  hand  and  colored  by  the 
imagination  of  a  poet. 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  1 6 1 


CHAPTER  XI. 

SCENE      WITH      THE      CHIEF       JUSTICE THE 

PRINCE  CONTRASTED  WITH  HIS  BROTH  ER 
JOHN TESTIMONY  OF  THE  POET'S  CON- 
TEMPORARIES AS  TO  HIS  GENTLE  CHAR- 
ACTER. 

AFTER  perusing  this  scene,  and  not- 
ing especially  the  lines, 

If  I  do  feign, 
O !  let  me  in  my  present  wildness  die, 
And  never  live  to  show  the  incredulous  world 
The  noble  change  that  I  have  purposed, 

the  reader  will  be  ready  for  the  scene  in 
which  the  king's  best  hopes  are  realize  1, 
and  the  noble  and  magnanimous  behavior 
of  his  son  toward  the  Chief  Justice  is 
shown  :  a  scene  so  beautiful,  so  full  of 
noble  lines,  and  exhibiting  the  Prince  in 
so  amiable  a  light, — acting  and  speaking 
as    we    cannot    help    thinking    the    Poet 


ii 


j  62  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

would  have  acted  and  spoken  in  his 
place, — that  I  cannot  forbear  giving  it 
entire,   without  omitting  a  single  word. 

SCENE  II. — Westminster.     A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Warwick,  and  the  Lord  Chief  Justice. 

War.     How  now,  my  lord  chief  justice  ?    whither 

away  ? 
Ch.Just.     How  doth  the  king  ? 
War.     Exceeding  well ;    his   cares   are    now   all 

ended. 
Ch.Just.     I  hope,  not  dead? 
War.  He's  walk'd  the  way  of  nature. 

And  to  our  purposes,  he  lives  no  more. 

Ch.Just.     I  would  his  majesty  had  called  me  with 
him  : 
The  service  that  I  truly  did  his  life 
Hath  left  me  open  to  all  injuries. 

War.     Indeed,  I  think  the  young  king  loves  you 

not. 
Ch.Just.     I  know  he  doth  not ;  and  do  arm  my- 
self, 
To  welcome  the  condition  of  the  time ; 
Which  cannot  look  more  hideously  upon  me 
Than  I  have  drawn  it  in  my  fantasy. 

JSnter  Prince  John,  Prince  Humphrey,  Clarence, 
Westmoreland,  and  others. 

War.     Here  comes  the  heavy  issue  of  dead  Harry  : 
O,  that  the  living  Harry  had  the  temper 
Of  him,  the  worst  of  these  three  gentlemen  ! 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


163 


How  many  nobles  then  should  hold  their  places, 
That  must  strike  sail  to  spirits  of  vile  sort ! 

Ch.  Just.     Alas  !  I  fear,  all  will  be  overturn'd. 

P.  John.     Good-morrow,  cousin  Warwick. 

P.  Humph.     Good-morrow,  cousin. 

P.John.     We  meet  like  men  that  had  forgot   to 
speak. 

War.     We  do  remember ;  but  our  argument 
Is  all  too  heavy  to  admit  much  talk. 

P.John.     Well,  peace  be  with  him  that  hath  made 
us  heavy ! 

Ch.  Just.     Peace  be  with  us,  least  we  be  heavier  ! 

P.  Humph.     O,  good  my  lord,  you   have   lost   a 
friend  indeed  : 
And  I  dare  swear,  you  borrow  not  that  face 
Of  seeming  sorrow  ;  it  is,  sure,  your  own. 

P.John.     Though  no  man  be  assur'd  what  grace 
to  find, 
You  stand  in  coldest  expectation  : 
I  am  the  sorrier;  would  'twere  otherwise. 

Cla.     Well,  you  must  now  speak  Sir  John  Falstaff 
fair; 
Which  swims  against  your  stream  of  quality. 

Ch.Just.     Sweet  princes,  what    I    did,    I  did    in 
honor, 
Led  by  the  impartial  conduct  of  my  soul ; 
And  never  shall  you  see,  that  I  will  beg 
A  ragged  and  forestall'd  remission. — 
If  truth  and  upright  innocency  fail  me, 
I'll  to  the  king  my  master  that  is  dead, 
And  tell  him  who  hath  sent  me  after  him. 


164 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


War.     Here  conies  the  prince. 

Enter  Prince  Henry,  as  King. 

Ch.Just.     Good-morrow;  and  heaven  save  your 
majesty ! 

King.     This  new  and  gorgeous  garment,  majesty, 
Sits  not  so  easy  on  me  as  you  think. — 
Brothers,  you  mix  your  sadness  with  some  fear : 
This  is  the  English,  not  the  Turkish  court ; 
Not  Amurath  an  Amurath  succeeds, 
But  Harry,  Harry.     Yet  be  sad,  good  brothers, 
For,  to  speak  truth,  it  very  well  becomes  you  : 
Sorrow  so  royally  in  you  appears, 
That  I  will  deeply  put  the  fashion  on, 
And  wear  it  in  my  heart.     Why,  then,  be  sad : 
But  entertain  no  more  of  it,  good  brothers, 
Than  a  joint  burden  laid  upon  us  all. 
For  me,  by  Heaven,  I  bid  you  be  assured, 
I'll  be  your  father  and  your  brother  too  ; 
Let  me  but  bear  your  love,  I'll  bear  your  cares. 
Yet  weep  that  Harry's  dead  ;  and  so  will  I  : 
But  Harry  lives,  that  shall  convert  those  tears, 
By  number,  into  hours  of  happiness. 

P.  John,  etc.     We  hope  no  other  from  your  majesty. 

King.     You  all  look  strangely  on   me  : — and  you 
most :  [To  the  Chief  Justice. 

You  are,  I  think,  assured,  I  love  you  not. 

Ch.  Just.     I  am  assured,  if  I  be  measured  rightly, 
Your  majesty  hath  no  just  cause  to  hate  me. 

King.     No ! 
How  might  a  prince  of  my  great  hopes  forget 
So  great  indignities  you  laid  upon  me  ? 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  \  6  5 

What !  rate,  rebuke,  and  roughly  send  to  prison 
The  immediate  heir  of  England  !     Was    this   easy  ? 
May  this  be  washed  in  Lethe  and  forgotten  ? 

Ch.Just.     I    then   did    use    the   person   of   your 
father ; 
The  image  of  his  power  lay  then  in  me  : 
And,  in  the  administration  of  his  law, 
Whiles  I  was  busy  for  the  commonwealth, 
Your  highness  pleased  to  forget  my  place, 
The  majesty  and  power  of  law  and  justice, 
The  image  of  the  king  whom  I  presented, 
And  struck  me  in  my  very  seat  of  judgment : 
Whereon,  as  an  offender  to  your  father, 
I  gave  bold  way  to  my  authority, 
And  did  commit  you.     If  the  deed  were  ill, 
Be  you  contented,  wearing  now  the  garland, 
To  have  a  son  set  your  decrees  at  nought ; 
To  pluck  down  justice  from  your  awful  bench  ; 
To  trip  the  course  of  law,  and  blunt  the  sword 
That  guards  the  peace  and  safety  of  your  person  : 
Nay,  more  :  to  spurn  at  your  most  royal  image, 
And  mock  your  workings  in  a  second  body. 
Question  your  royal  thoughts,  make  the  case  yours  ; 
Be  now  the  father,  and  propose  a  son  : 
Hear  your  own  dignity  so  much  profaned, 

your  most  dreadful  laws  so  loosely  slighted, 
Behold  yourself  so  by  a  son  disdained  : 
And  then  imagine  me  taking  your  part, 
And,  in  your  power,  soft  silencing  your  son  : 
After  this  cold  consideration,  sentence  me  ; 
And,  as  you  are  a  king,  speak  in  your  state, 


!66  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

What  I  have  done  that  misbecame  my  place, 
My  person,  or  my  liege's  sovereignty. 

ICing.     You  are    right,   justice,    and   you   weigh 
this  well ; 
Therefore  still  bear  the  balance  and  the  sword : 
And  I  do  wish  your  honors  may  increase, 
Till  you  do  live  to  see  a  son  of  mine 
Offend  you,  and  obey  you,  as  I  did. 
So  shall  I  live  to  speak  my  father's  words : — 
"  Happy  am  I,  that  have  a  man  so  bold, 
That  dares  do  justice  on  my  proper  son  ; 
And  not  less  happy,  having  such  a  son, 
That  would  deliver  up  his  greatness  so 
Into  the  hands  of  justice." — You  did  commit   me  : 
For  which  I  do  commit  into  your  hand 
The  unstained  sword  that  you  have  used  to  bear  : 
With  this  remembrance, — That  you  use  the  same 
With  the  like  bold,  just,  and  impartial  spirit, 
As  you  have  done  'gainst  me.     There  is  my  hand  ; 
You  shall  be  as  a  father  to  my  youth  : 
My  voice  shall  sound  as  you  do  prompt  mine  ear  ; 
And  I  will  stoop  and  humble  my  intents 
To  your  well-practised,  wise  directions. — 
And,  princes  all,  believe  me,  I  beseech  you : 
My  father  is  gone  wild  into  his  grave, 
For  in  his  tomb  lie  my  affections ; 
And  with  his  spirit  sadly  I  survive, 
To  mock  the  expectation  of  the  world  ; 
To  frustrate  prophecies ;  and  to  raze  out 
Rotten  opinion,  who  hath  writ  me  down 
After  my  seeming.      The  tide  of  blood  in  me 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


i6y 


Hath  proudly  flowed  in  vanity  till  now ; 
Now  doth  it  turn,  and  ebb  back  to  the  sea : 
Where  it  shall  mingle  with  the  state  of  floods, 
And  flow  henceforth  in  formal  majesty. 
Now  call  we  our  high  court  of  parliament : 
And  let  us  choose  such  limbs  of  noble  counsel, 
That  the  great  body  of  our  state  may  go 
In  equal  rank  with  the  best  governed  nation  ; 
That  war,  or  peace,  or  both  at  once,  may  be 
As  things  acquainted  and  familiar  to  us  ; — 
In  which  you,  father,  shall  have  foremost  hand. 

[To  the  Lord  Chief  Justice. 
Our  coronation  done,  we  will  accite, 
As  I  before  remembered,  all  our  state  : 
And  (God  consigning  to  my  good  intents) 
No  prince,  nor  peer,  shall  have  just  cause  to  say, 
Heaven  shorten  Harry's  happy  life  one  day  ! 

What  a  contrast  is  all  this  to  the 
wretched  conduct  of  his  brother  John  ! 
What  a  contrast  does  the  Prince's  treat- 
ment of  the  Chief  Justice  present  to 
John's  mean  and  infamous  behavior  in 
delivering  up  the  surrendered  noblemen 
to  the  hangman!  If  the  Prince  were 
made  to  commit  any  atrocity  of  this  kind, 
I  should  say  at  once,  "  No;  this  cannot 
be  the  Poet;"  but  he  never  does;  such 
conduct  is  foreign  to   his  nature.      He  is 


l6$  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

always    kind,    considerate,  merciful,    and 


magnanimous. 


When  Falstaff  finds  that  his  wit  has 
no  effect  upon  John,  that  treacherous  and 
cruel  prince,  he  exclaims :  "  This  same 
young  sober-blooded  boy  doth  not  love 
me,  and  a  man  cannot  make  him  laugh." 
Of  course  he  cannot  make  him  laugh  ; 
for  it  needs  a  heart  as  well  as  a  head  to  ap- 
preciate wit,  and  Prince  John  had  neither. 
"  He  who  cannot  be  softened  into  gayety," 
says  Johnson,  "cannot  easily  be  melted 
into  kindness."  "  And  none,"  adds  Hud- 
son, "  are  so  hopeless  as  those  who  have 
no  bowels."  Let  the  reader  remember 
Prince  Henry's  kindness  to  the  tapsters, 
to  the  page  of  Falstaff,  to  Mrs.  Quickly, 
and  to  all  with  whom  he  came  in  contact ; 
let  him  remember  that  the  Poet  was  uni- 
versally esteemed  for  the  gentleness  and 
kindliness  of  his  demeanor  toward  all 
with  whom  he  had  any  dealings  ;  let  him 
remember  that  when  the  actors  had  re- 
jected Ben  Jonson's  play,  Every  Man 
in  his  Humor,  Shakespeare  took  it  up, 
found    something  meritorious    in   it,   and 


rOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  i  (fy 

caused  it  to  be  accepted  ;  let  him  com- 
pare these  actions  with  those  of  the 
Prince,  and  he  will  not  fail  to  become 
convinced  that  the  Prince  and  the  Poet 
are  one  and  the  same  person. 

"  Falstaff's  pride  of  wit,"  says  Mr. 
Hudson,  commenting  on  his  encounter 
with  Prince  John,  "a  pride  which  is  most 
especially  gratified  in  the  fascination  he 
has  upon  Prince  Henry,  is  shrewdly  man- 
ifested here,  while  at  the  same  time  a 
very  important  and  operative  principle  of 
human  character  in  general,  and  of  Prince 
John's  character  in  particular,  is  most 
hintingly  touched.  Falstaff  sees  that  the 
brain  of  this  sober-blooded  boy  has  noth- 
ing for  him  to  get  hold  of  or  work  upon  ; 
that,  be  he  ever  so  witty  in  himself,  he 
cannot  be  the  cause  of  any  wit  in  him  ; 
and  he  is  vexed  and  mortified  that  his 
wit  fails  upon  him.  And  the  Poet  meant 
no  doubt  to  have  it  understood  that 
Prince  Henry  was  drawn  and  held  to 
Falstaff  by  virtue  of  something  that 
raised  him  immeasurably  above  his 
brother  ;  and  that  the   frozen   regularity 


170 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


which  was  proof  against  all  the  batteries 
of  wit  and  humor  was  all  of  a  piece, 
vitally,  with  the  moral  hardness  which 
would  not  flinch  from  such  an  abominable 
act  of  perfidy  as  that  towards  the  Arch- 
bishop and  his  party."  True,  Mr.  Hud- 
son, very  true  ;  he  possessed  "  something 
that  raised  him  immeasurably  above  his 
brother,"  who  had  nothing  of  the  noble 
and  brilliant  character  of  the  Prince, 
whose  characteristics  were  all  gentle  and 
noble,  like  those  of  the  Poet.  How 
much  the  Prince  (or  the  Poet)  enjoyed 
humor,  and  how  heartily  he  could  laugh, 
we  may  see  from  what  Falstaff  is  going 
to  make  out  of  Shallow  :  "  I  will  devise 
matter  enough  out  of  this  Shallow  to 
keep  Prince  Harry  in  continual  laughter 
the  wearing  out  of  six  fashions  (which 
is  four  terms  or  two  actions),  and  he 
shall  lauodi  without  intervallums.  O  ! 
you  shall  see  him  laugh,  till  his  face  be 
like  a  wet  blanket  ill  laid  up  ! " 

With  all  his  faults,  with  all  his  wild 
pranks  and  loose  talk,  there  is  perhaps 
no  more  essentially  noble,   humane,  and 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


171 


magnanimous  character  in  literature 
than  this  Henry,  Prince  of  Wales, 
now  become  king,  and  whom  we  have 
every  reason  to  regard  as  the  like- 
ness of  Shakespeare.  Not  only  do  we 
find  him  showing  the  gentlest,  kindest 
condescension  to  persons  of  low  degree, 
but  suing  for  grace,  favor,  and  liberty 
to  rebels  and  insurgents  of  high  degree, 
men  who  endeavored  to  dethrone  his 
father  and  ruin  his  family,  men  who, 
like  the  redoubtable  Douglas,  were  the 
most  formidable  enemies  of  himself  and 
his  house  : 

Go  to  the  Douglas,  and  deliver  him 
Up  to  his  pleasure,  ransomless,  and  free : 
His  valor,  shown  upon  our  crests  to-day, 
Hath  taught  us  how  to  cherish  such  high  deeds, 
Even  in  the  bosom  of  our  adversaries. 

And  when  that  prince  of  cowards, 
Falstaff,  takes  up  Percy's  body  and  is 
carrying  it  off  as  the  proof  of  his  valor, 
how  magnanimously  the  Prince  covers 
his  deception  ! 

Come,  bring  your  luggage  nobly  on  your  back  : 
For  my  part,  if  a  lie  may  do  thee  grace, 
I'll  gild  it  with  the  happiest  terms  I  have. 


lj2  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

Might  not  this  be  regarded,  not  only 
as  characteristic  of  the  Poet's  magnan- 
imity, but    of    his  indifference  to  fame  ? 

Shortly  before  sailing  for  France,  the 
Prince  (now  king)  thus  displays  "  the 
attribute  to  awe  and  majesty,"  toward 
an  unfortunate  offender  of  the  hour : 

King.  Uncle  of  Exeter, 

Enlarge  the  man  committed  yesterday, 
That  railed  against  our  person  :  we  consider 
It  was  excess  of  wine  that  set  him  on  ; 
And,  on  his  more  advice,  we  pardon  him. 

Scroop.     That's  mercy  ;  but  too  much  security. 
Let  him  be  punished,  sovereign  ;  lest  example 
Breed  by  this  sufferance  more  of  such  a  kind. 

King.     O  !  let  us  yet  be  merciful. 

It  is  true,  this  mercy  to  "  the  man  that 
railed  against  our  person  yesterday " 
serves  to  make  his  condemnation  of  the 
bribed  traitors  who  were  about  to  mur- 
der him,  all  the  more  severe  and  unex- 
pected ;  but  this  is  history,  and  the  other 
is  a  stroke  of  character. 

Before  concluding  this  chapter,  let  me 
sav  a  word  or  two  more  touching  the 
character  of  the   Prince,  that   I  may  com- 


PORTRAYED  BY  HIMSELF. 


17- 


pare  it  with  the  character  of  the  Poet  as 
reported  by  his  contemporaries. 

With  all  his  extravagant  and  royster- 
ing  ways,  we  feel  that  the  Prince  was, 
like  the  Poet,  the  quintessence  of  honor  in 
his  every-day  life.  "  Do  thou  stand  for 
my  father,"  he  says  to  Falstaff,  "  and  ex- 
amine me  upon  the  particulars  of  my 
life."  He  is  no  more  afraid  to  answer 
for  the  particulars  of  his  life  than  to  meet 
the  most  powerful  enemies  of  his  house, 
Douglas,  Percy,  and  Glendower;  for  he 
knows  there  is  as  little  dishonor  in  the 
one  as  dread  in  the  other. 

When  he  appears  before  his  father,  he 
tells  him  plainly  he  is  not  so  bad  as  he  is 
painted  : 

So  please  your  majesty,  I  would  I  could 
Quit  all  offences  with  as  clear  excuse, 
As  well  as,  I  am  doubtless,  I  can  purge 
Myself  of  many  I  am  charged  withal. 

When  reproached  with  making  himself 
too  common  in  the  public  eye,  and  losing 
his  "princely  privilege  with  vile  partici- 
pation," he  does  not  say  he  has  been 
bad  and  will  reform  ;  but 


^4  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

I  shall  hereafter,  my  thrice  gracious  lord, 
Be  more  myself. 

And  when  his   father  goes  so  far  as  to 

say : 

Thou  art  like  enough,  through  vassal  fear, 
Base  inclination,  and  the  start  of  spleen, 
To  fight  against  me  under  Percy's  pay  ; 

he  exclaims  : 

Do  not  think  so  ;  you  shall  not  find  it  so  ! 

And  God  forgive  them  that  so  much  have  swayed 

Your  majesty's  good  thoughts  away  from  me, 

All  which  answers  completely  to  the 
character  of  the  Poet ;  for  although  known 
to  have  been  fond  of  companionship 
of  all  sorts,  and  to  have  engaged  in  wild 
pranks,  he  has  never  been  accused,  by 
any  reputable  person,  of  dishonorable  or 
disgraceful  actions. 

No  man  is  more  conscious  of  the  evil 
of  his  surroundings  than  the  Prince. 
"  Why,  thou  globe  of  sinful  continents," 
he  says  to  Falstaff,  "  what  a  life  dost 
thou  lead!"  Behind  the  mask  of  revel- 
ry and  laughter,  we  may  easily  perceive 
the  earnest  and  thoughtful  countenance 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  \  7  5 

of  the  deep-thinking  man.  To  see  how 
full-charged  his  mind  and  heart  are,  we 
have  but  to  turn  to  his  soliloquies  by  the 
death-bed  of  his   father  : 

Why  doth  the  crown  lie  there  upon  his  pillow, 
Being  so  troublesome  a  bedfellow  ! 
O,  polished  perturbation  !  golden  care  ! 
That  keep'st  the  ports  of  slumber  open  wide 
To  many  a  watchful  night ! — Sleep  with  it  now  ! 
Yet  not  so  sound,  and  half  so  deeply  sweet, 
As  he,  whose  brow  with  homely  biggin  bound, 
Snores  out  the  watch  of  night.     O  majesty  ! 
When  thou  dost  pinch  thy  bearer,  thou  dost  sit 
Like  a  rich  armor  worn  in  heat  of  day, 
That  scalds  with  safety. 

Could  Hamlet  himself  have  spoken 
more  philosophically,  or  more  eloquently  ? 
Even  in  the  midst  of  his  revelry,  he  sud- 
denly exclaims,  "  Well,  thus  we  play  the 
fools  with  the  time,  and  the  spirits  of 
the  wise  sit  in  the  clouds  and  mock  us  !  " 
And  at  the  end  of  the  scene  in  which  he 
and  Poins  surprise  Falstaff  with  his  mis- 
tress, he  thus  takes  his  leave  of  them  : 

By  Heaven,  Poins,  I  feel  me  much  to  blame 
So  idly  to  profane  the  precious  time, 
When  tempest  of  commotion,  like  the  south, 


i;6 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


Borne  with  black  vapor,  doth  begin  to  melt, 

And  drop  upon  our  bare  unarmed  heads. 

Give  me  my  sword  and  cloak. — Falstaff,  good  night. 

Even  in  that  "  Falstaff,  good  night " 
there  shines  the  magnanimous  soul  of 
one  who  could  bear  no  ill-will  even  to 
one  who  had  just  heaped  upon  him  a 
load  of  unmerited  abuse. 

Wherever  it  is  possible,  Shakespeare 
makes  him  the  mild,  gentle,  thoughtful 
man  he  was  himself ;  gentle  and  conde- 
scending to  his  inferiors,  nimble-witted 
and  charming  among  his  equals,  and 
kind  and  considerate  to  his  inferiors. 
From  the  testimony  of  his  contempora- 
ries, it  is  evident  that  Shakespeare  was 
loved  by  all  that  knew  him,  and  hated  by 
none.  "Our  sweet  Will,"  "the  gentle 
bard  of  Avon,"  "  that  same  gentle  spirit," 
"  our  pleasant  Willy,"  "  that  gentle  shep- 
herd," "  honey-tongued  Shakespeare," 
are  the  expressions  by  which  he  is  char- 
acterized by  them.  "  The  man  whom 
Nature's  self  hath  made  to  mock  herself, 
and  truth  to  imitate,"  is  Spenser's  happy 
phrase.        "Myself    have    seen     his   de- 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  j  yy 

meanor,  no  less  civil  than  excellent  in 
the  quality  he  professes,"  is  Chettle's 
valuable  testimony.  "  I  love  the  man, 
and  do  honor  his  memory  this  side  idola- 
try," is  the  warm  expression  of  his  in- 
timate friend  Ben  Jonson.  "  He  was 
very  good  company,  and  of  a  very  ready 
and  pleasant  smooth  wit,"  says  Aubrey. 
"He  redeemed  his  vices  with  his  vir- 
tues," says  Ben  Jonson,  "  and  there  was 
more  in  him  to  be  praised  than  to  be 
blamed." 

Could  any  words  characterize  the 
Prince  better  than  these?  Did  he  not 
"redeem  his  vices  with  his  virtues?"  and 
was  there  not  "  more  in  him  to  be  praised 
than  to  be  blamed?"  Hudson,  one  of 
the  very  best  of  all  Shakespeare's  editors 
and  biographers,  thus  sums  up  the  Poet's 
character  :  "  Scanty  as  are  the  materials, 
enough  we  think  has  been  given  to  show 
that  in  all  the  common  dealings  of  life, 
Shakespeare  was  eminently  gentle,  can- 
did, upright,  and  judicious  ;  open-hearted, 
genial,  and  sweet  in  his  social  inter- 
course ;     among     his     companions     and 


iy$  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

friends  full  of  playful  wit  and  sprightly 
grace  \  kind  to  the  faults  of  others,  severe 
to  his  own  ;  quick  to  discern  and  ac- 
knowledge merit  in  another,  modest  and 
slow  of  finding  it  in  himself ;  while  in  the 
smooth  and  happy  marriage,  which  he 
seems  to  have  realized,  of  the  highest 
poetry  and  art  with  systematic  and  suc- 
cessful prudence  in  business  affairs,  we 
have  an  example  of  compact  and  well- 
rounded  practical  manhood,  such  as  may 
justly  engage  our  perpetual  admiration." 
And  Mr.  Halliwell  thus  ends  his  account 
of  him  :  "  The  character  of  Shakespeare 
is  even  better  than  his  history.  We  have 
direct  and  undeniable  proofs  that  he  was 
prudent  and  active  in  the  business  of 
life,  judicious  and  honest,  possessing 
great  conversational  talent,  universally 
esteemed  as  gentle  and  amiable ;  yet 
more  desirous  of  accumulating  property 
than  of  increasing  his  reputation,  and  oc- 
casionally indulging  in  courses  irregular 
and  wild,  but  not  incompatible  with  this 
generic  summary." 

Who  will  say  that  all  this  has   no  re- 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  j  jg 

semblance  to  the  Prince  ?  Can  it  not  be 
easily  conceived  that  the  Poet's  picture  of 
the  Prince  is  just  that  of  himself  in  his 
youth,  when  he  "  indulged  in  the  courses 
irregular  and  wild,"  so  much  spoken  of 
by  his  biographers  ?  But  there  are  other 
considerations,  still  stronger,  to  fortify 
the  truth  of  this  conception. 


jgo  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


CHAPTER  XII. 


THE      STAGE     AS     A    PROFESSION     IN    SHAKE- 

SPEARE'S  TIME THE    POETS    ARRIVAL    IN 

LONDON,     AND      HIS      FIRST      OCCUPATION 
AND    COMPANIONSHIP    THERE. 


THE  theater  was,  in  Shakespeare's 
time,  like  the  newspaper  press  of 
to-day,  the  one  arena  toward  which  an 
intellectual  youth,  arriving  in  a  great 
city,  naturally  gravitated.  It  was  the 
great  place  of  recreation,  toward  which, 
as  it  afforded  instruction  as  well  as 
amusement,  the  people  crowded  in  con- 
stantly increasing  numbers.  "  It  is 
pretty  evident,"  says  Mr.  Hudson,  "that 
in  Shakespeare's  time  the  drama  was 
decidedly  a  great  institution ;  it  was 
a  sort  of  Fourth  Estate  in  the  realm, 
nearly  as  much  so  perhaps  as  the  news- 
paper press  is  in  our  day.  Practically, 
the  government    of   the  Commonwealth 


PORTRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  j  g  r 

was  vested  in  king,  lords,  commons, 
and  dramatists,  including  in  the  latter 
both  writers  and  actors ;  so  that  the 
Poet  had  far  more  reason  than  now 
exists  for  making  Hamlet  say  to  the  old 
statesman  :  '  After  your  death  you  had 
better  have  a  bad  epitaph,  than  their 
ill  report  while  you  live.'  Perhaps  we 
may  add,"  says  the  same  writer,  4<as 
illustrating  the  prodigious  rush  of  life 
and  thought  towards  the  drama  in  that 
age,  that,  besides  the  dozen  authors  of 
whom  I  have  spoken,  Henslowe's  Diary 
shows  the  names  of  thirty  other  drama- 
tists, most  of  whom  have  propagated 
some  part  of  their  workmanship  down  to 
our  time;  and  in  the  same  document 
there  are  recorded,  during  the  twelve 
years  beginning  in  February,  1591,  the 
titles  of  not  fewer  than  270  pieces,  either 
as  original  compositions  or  as  revivals  of 
older  plays."  Stephen  Gosson,  in  his 
Tract  entitled  "  Plays  confuted  in  Five 
Actions,"  published  in  1581,  has  this  re- 
markable description  of  the  activity  of 
the  London  stage  at  this  time  :  "  I   may 


1 32  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

boldly  say  it,  because  I  have  seen  it, 
that  The  Palace  of  Pleasure,  The  Golden 
Ass,  The  Ethiopian  History,  Amadis 
of  France,  The  Round  Table,  and  bawdy 
comedies  in  Latin,  French,  Italian  and 
Spanish,  have  been  thoroughly  ransacked, 
to  furnish  the  play-houses  in  London." 

And  in  the  Return  from  Parnassus,  a 
poem  published  in  1601,  there  is  a  pas- 
sage which  strikingly  illustrates  the  won- 
derful success  and  enviable  position  of 
the  Players  of  the  time,  the  last  line  in 
which  may  refer  directly  to  Shakespeare 
himself : 

England  affords  those  glorious  vagabonds, 
That  carried  erst  their  fardels  on  their  backs, 
Coursers  to  ride  on  through  the  gazing  streets, 
Sweeping  it  in  their  glaring  satin  suits ; 
With  mouthing  words  that  better  wits  have  framed, 
They  purchased  lands,  and  now  esquires  are  made. 

Here  then  was  a  market  for  dramatic 
genius  ;  here  was  an  opportunity  for  him 
who  could  produce  anything  new,  fresh, 
and  original  in  dramatic  literature  ;  here 
was  the  sphere,  the  companionship,  the 
sights,  scenes,  and  sounds  which  attracted 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


183 


the  youthful  genius,  full  of  all  noble  fan- 
cies, in  love  with  poetry  and  romance, 
and  burning  for  a  place  among  the 
world's  heroes.  Such  was  the  arena  into 
which  Shakespeare  entered ;  such  was 
the  promising  field  that  attracted  him  to 
London ;  and  such  was  the  market  in 
which  he  grew  rich.  Here  he  found  an 
occupation  in  which  he  could  bring  all 
his  noble  faculties  into  play.  He  wanted 
scope  for  powers  greater  than  those 
of  the  money-maker ;  he  wanted  room 
for  the  expression  of  his  thought,  his 
fancies  and  conceptions  ;  and  the  theater, 
of  all  the  places  in  the  world,  was  the 
one  place  most  favorable  for  this  pur- 
pose. Unknown  and  uninfluential  as  he 
was,  there  was  no  other  position  so  ac- 
cessible to  him ;  none  other  so  suitable 
for  him.  The  comfortable  situations 
in  the  government  service  were  mo- 
nopolized by  the  nobility  and  gentry ; 
these  were  theirs  by  a  sort  of  natural 
right ;  and  the  Poet  had  to  look  for  his 
living"  in  a  more  active  situation.  Thus 
both    fortune    and     his    tastes     pointed 


j  84  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

the  same  way.  Even  if  he  could  have 
had  his  choice,  he  would  probably  have 
preferred  a  position  in  the  theater  to 
one  in  the  government.  Be  that  as  it 
may,  we  know  that  he  enrolled  himself 
in  one  of  those  dramatic  companies  which 
he  subsequently  styled  "  the  abstracts 
and  brief  chronicles  of  the  time  ; "  and, 
having  once  done  so,  he  bent  all  his 
energies  to  master  everything  connected 
with  it. 

Nor  did  he  come  into  unworthy  com- 
pany ;  for  the  dramatic  societies  of  that 
day  seem  to  have  been  made  up  of  gen- 
erous and  noble  souls,  fit  associates  even 
for  Shakespeare.  Davies,  his  contempo- 
rary, thus  writes  of  them  in  1603  : 

Players,  I  love  ye  and  your  quality, 

As  ye  are  men  that  pastime  not  abused; 
And  some  I  love  for  painting  poesy, 

And  say  fell  Fortune  cannot  be  excused 
That  hath  for  better  uses  you  refused  : 

Wit,   courage,  good   shape,  good   parts,   and   all 
good, 
As  long  as  all  these  goods  are  no  worse  used : 

And   though   the   stage    doth   stain    pure   gentle 
blood, 
Yet  generous  ye  are  in  mind  and  mood. 


PORTRAYED  BY  HIMSELF. 


185 


This  is  excellent  testimony  to  their 
character  and  quality.  Who  would  not 
like  to  belong  to  a  company  that  had 
"wit,  courage,  good  shape,  good  parts," 
and  were  "generous  in  mind  and  mood"? 
Such  were  the  men  with  whom  Shake- 
speare associated ;  such  were  the  char- 
acters with  whom  he  played  and  for 
whose  acting  he  wrote  his  plays. 

It  is  exceedingly  probable,  from  vari- 
ous circumstances  in  his  family  history, 
that  Shakespeare  knew  something  of 
these  players  before  he  left  Stratford  ; 
for  his  father  is  known  to  have  been 
friendly  to  the  actors  who  visited  Strat- 
ford, and  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  he 
was  the  personal  friend  of  some  of  them. 
Several  of  those  who  subsequently  acted 
with  Shakespeare  in  London  and  else- 
where— notably  Burbage,  Green,  and 
Tooley — were  from  the  same  county  as 
himself,  and  it  is  probable  that  these 
townsmen  of  his  were  the  personal 
friends  of  his  father  as  well  as  of  himself. 
Even  if  they  were  not,  it  is  not  likely 
that  when  there  came  to  London  the  son 


I  §6  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

of  the  former  chief  magistrate  of  Strat- 
ford, who  had  been  the  friend  and  patron 
of  the  players  that  visited  the  town, 
he  would  have  been  received  with  cold- 
ness or  indifference.  We  may  be  sure 
that  young  Shakespeare  took  advan- 
tage of  his  father's  generous  hospitality 
toward  the  strolling  players,  not  only  to 
witness  their  performances,  but  to  cul- 
tivate their  personal  acquaintance  in 
Stratford. 

A  gentleman  named  Willis,  born  in 
the  same  year  as  Shakespeare,  1564, 
gives,  in  a  narrative  of  his  life,  an  ac- 
count of  "  a  stage-play  which  he  saw 
when  he  was  a  child,"  which  seems 
strongly  to  fortify  the  supposition  that 
Shakespeare  witnessed  such  plays  in  his 
youth.  "  In  the  city  of  Gloucester," 
says  he,  "  the  manner  is,  as  I  think  it 
is  in  other  like  corporations,  that,  when 
players  of  enterludes  come  to  towne, 
they  first  attend  the  Mayor  to  enforme 
him  what  nobleman's  servants  they  are, 
and  so  to  get  licence  for  their  publike 
playing  ;  and  if  the  Mayor  like  the  actors, 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  j  g  -j 

or  would  shew  respect  to  their  lord  and 
master,  he  appoints  them  to  play  their 
first  play  before  himselfe  and  the  Alder- 
men and  Common  Counsell  of  the  city  ; 
and  that  is  called  the  Mayor's  play, 
where  every  one  that  will  comes  in  with- 
out money,  the  Mayor  giving  the  players 
a  reward  as  hee  thinks  fit  to  shew  respect 
unto  them.  At  such  a  play  my  father 
tooke  me  with  him,  and  made  mee  stand 
betweene  his  leggs  as  he  sat  upon  one 
of  the  benches,  where  we  saw  and  heard 
very  well."  Then  he  gives  a  detailed 
account  of  the  play,  which  was  called  the 
"  Cradle  of  Security,"  and  which  is  now 
lost. 

"  Who  can  be  so  pitiless  to  the  im- 
agination," says  Mr.  Halliwell-Phillipps, 
"as  not  to  erase  the  name  of  Gloucester 
in  the  preceding  anecdote,  and  replace  it 
by  that  of  Stratford-on-Avon  ?"  And 
who  can  be  so  pitiless  to  the  imagination 
as  not  to  fancy  John  Shakespeare  the 
name  of  the  mayor,  and  his  son,  the  little 
boy  between  his  knees,  watching  the 
play?     We    may,  at    all  events,   rest  as- 


!88  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

sured  that  his  son  was  likely  to  have  aid- 
ed in  the  generous  welcome  to  the  play- 
ers, and  the  players  were  likely  to  have 
remembered  the  intelligent  lad,  and  tried 
to  requite  the  kindness  of  the  father  by 
their  hospitable  reception  of  the  son. 
Who  can  help  thinking,  too,  that  it  was 
perhaps  the  sight  of  one  of  these  old- 
fashioned  plays  which,  like  young  Moli- 
ere's  sight  of  the  comedy  at  the  Hotel  de 
Bourgogne,  first  awakened  in  him  a  de- 
sire for  better  things  than  he  had  known, 
kindled  a  love  of  poesy,  and  a  passion 
for  the  drama  ?  Oh,  there  will  come  a 
time  when  some  one,  some  genial  master 
hand,  will  work  all  this  up  in  some  life- 
like story,  some  fascinating  romance, 
that  will  charm  all  mankind  ! 

Under  these  circumstances,  nothing 
can  be  more  likely  than  that  the  magis- 
trate's son  received  a  generous  welcome 
at  the  hands  of  the  actors  in  their  Lon- 
don home,  and  that  they  secured  him  a 
position  in  their  fraternity.  Besides,  it 
is  well  known  that  those  cominof  from  the 
provincial  or  rural  parts  of  England  to 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


189 


the  great  metropolis  often  seek  out  and 
associate  with  their  townsmen  and  com- 
patriots, who,  glad  to  hear  from  home, 
generally  receive  them  with  kindness  and 
favor. 

Those  who  have  resided  in  London 
know  what  clannishness  there  is,  even  at 
this  day,  among  those  hailing  from  the 
same  county  or  town  in  that  small  isl- 
and of  Britain,  and  how  generously  and 
kindly  the  absentee  from  home  takes  to 
a  new  arrival  from  his  native  hills.  I 
have  seen  this  myself ;  for  even  as  late 
as  1 86 1-2,  when  I  was  in  London,  I 
was  surprised  to  find  that  there  were 
in  that  great  metropolis  associations  of 
Yorkshire-men,  Caithness-men,  Welsh- 
men, etc.,  expressly  formed  for  mutual 
assistance  and  friendly  intercourse.  "  At 
all  events,"  says  Mr.  Halliwell-Phillipps, 
speaking  of  Shakespeare's  acquaintance 
with  Richard  Field,  who  was  a  Warwick- 
shire man,  and  who  printed  the  first  edi- 
tion of  his  Venus  and  Adonis,  "  there  was 
the  provincial  tie, — so  specially  dear  to 
Englishmen  when  at  a  distance  from  the 


190 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


town  of  their  birth, — between  the  Poet 
and  his  printer."  And  this  tie,  more 
especially  dear  perhaps  to  a  poet  than 
to  another,  existed  between  himself  and 
several  of  the  actors  with  whom  he  was 
so  long  associated,  and  was  perhaps  that 
which  drew  as  well  as  bound  him  to  them 
for  so  many  years. 

It  is  more  than  probable,  therefore, 
that  he  came  to  London  with  a  previous 
understanding  that  he  would,  on  his 
arrival,  receive  a  position  connected  with 
the  theater ;  for,  as  he  was  already  mar- 
ried, and  had  a  wife  and  child  to  support, 
so  wise  and  prudent  a  man  was  not  likely 
to  have  ventured  to  London  on  mere 
speculation.  Is  it  likely  that,  if  he  had 
come  to  London  as  a  sort  of  beggarly 
holder  of  horses  at  the  theater-doors, 
he  would  in  two  years  after  his  arrival  in 
London  have  acquired  sufficient  wealth 
and  reputation  to  become  one  of  the  fif- 
teen proprietors  of  the  Blackfriars'  The- 
ater ?  Is  it  likely  that  he  would  in  so 
short  a  time  have  become  the  friend  and 
companion  of  various   noblemen   and  of 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  Y  g  i 

some  of  the  most  considerable  persons  of 
the  time?  "The  reason  why  we  know 
so  little  of  Shakespeare,"  says  Maginn, 
"  is,  that  when  his  business  was  over  at 
the  theater,  he  did  not  mix  with  his  fel- 
low-actors, but  stepped  into  his  boat,  and 
rowed  up  to  Whitehall,  there  to  spend 
his  time  with  the  Earl  of  Southampton, 
and  other  gentlemen  about  the  Court." 
The  bare  fact  that  he  became  the  es- 
teemed friend  and  companion  of  such 
men  as  Southampton  is  a  proof  that 
he  was,  from  the  first,  a  man  of  taste 
and  refinement.  So  also  is  the  circum- 
stance that  he  bought,  with  his  first  con- 
siderable earnings,  the  finest  house  in  his 
native  town,  and  put  his  family  into  it. 
A  man  of  low  origin  and  vulgar  tastes 
would  have  had  other  associates,  and 
would  have  spent  his  money  in  quite  a 
different  way. 

Instead  of  being  incredible,  therefore, 
Shakespeare's  career  seems  to  me  of  all 
things  most  credible  and  natural ;  for  he 
came  to  his  work  in  the  most  natural 
way  that  can  be  imagined.      No  college- 


192 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


bred,  classic-crammed  formalist  could  ever 
have  composed  the  free  and  easy,  prec- 
edent-defying", rule-defying,  and  entirely 
original  compositions  which  go  under  his 
name.  None  but  a  naturally-developed, 
free  and  independent  genius  could  have 
produced  such  marvellous  works.  They 
probably  came  to  him  as  naturally  and 
as  easily  as  the  historical  romances 
came  to  Walter  Scott,  and  he  perhaps 
dashed  off  a  play  in  as  short  a  space  of 
time  as  Scott  dashed  off  a  romance.  We 
know  this  to  have  been  the  case  with  The 
Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  and  it  is  not 
improbable  that  the  same  was  the  case 
with  others  of  his  plays.  In  Loves 
Labor  s  Lost,  he  makes  Biron  say  : 

Small  have  continual  plodders  ever  won, 
Save  base  authority,  from  others'  books. 

"  Fortunately  for  us,"  says  Mr.  Halli- 
well-Phillipps,  ''the  youthful  dramatist 
had,  excepting  in  the  school-room,  lit- 
tle opportunity  of  studying  any  but  a 
grander  volume,  the  infinite  book  of  na- 
ture, the  pages  of  which  were  ready  to  be 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  j  g  3 

unfolded  to  him  in  the  lane  and  field, 
amongst  the  copses  of  Snitterfield,  by 
the  side  of  the  river,  or  by  that  of  his 
uncle's  hedgerows." 


194 


WILLIAM  SHAKESrEARE 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


», 


SHAKESPEARE  S    CAREER   IN    LONDON HOW 

HIS    CONDUCT  CLOSELY    RESEMBLES  THAT 
OF    THE    PRINCE. 

N"  OW  let  us  turn  to  the  scene  in 
which  the  Prince,  on  ascending  the 
throne,  discards  Falstaff  and  his  other 
companions,  and  see  how  it  resembles  the 
Poet's  conduct  on  arriving  in  London. 

Enter  the  King  and  his  train ;   the   Chief  Justice 
among  them. 

Fal.     God  save  thy  grace,  King  Hal !   my  royal 

Hal! 
Fist.     The  heavens  thee  guard   and  keep,  most 

royal  imp  of  fame  ! 
Fal.     God  save  thee,  my  sweet  boy  ! 
King.     My  lord  Chief  Justice,  speak  to  that  vain 

man. 
Ch.Just.     Have  you  your  wits?     Know  you  what 

'tis  you  speak  ? 
Fal.     My  king  1  my  Jove  !     I  speak  to  thee,  my 

heart ! 


PORTRAYED  BY  HIMSELF. 


195 


King.     I  know  thee  not,  old  man.     Fall  to  thy 
prayers : 
How  ill  white  hairs  become  a  fool  and  jester ! 
I  have  long  dreamt  of  such  a  kind  of  man, 
So  surfeit-swelled,  so  old,  and  so  profane  ; 
But,  being  awake,  I  do  despise  my  dream. 
Make  less  thy  body,  hence,  and  more  thy  grace; 
Leave  gormandizing  ;  know,  the  grave  doth  gape 
For  thee  thrice  wider  than  for  other  men. 
Reply  not  to  me  with  a  fool-born  jest : 
Presume  not  that  I  am  the  thing  I  was ; 
For  God  doth  know,  so  shall  the  world  perceive, 
That  I  have  turned  away  my  former  self : 
So  will  I  those  that  kept  me  company. 
When  thou  dost  hear  I  am  as  I  have  been, 
Approach  me,  and  thou  shalt  be  as  thou  wast, 
The  tutor  and  the  feeder  of  my  riots : 
Till  then,  I  banish  thee,  on  pain  of  death, 
As  I  have  done  the  rest  of  my  misleaders, 
Not  to  come  near  our  person  by  ten  mile. 
For  competence  of  life  I  will  allow  you, 
That  lack  of  means  enforce  you  not  to  evil  ; 
And  as  we  hear  you  do  reform  yourselves, 
We  will,  according  to  your  strength  and  qualities, 
Give  you  advancement. — Be  it  your  charge,  my  lord, 
To  see  performed  the  tenor  of  our  word.— 
Set  on. 

When  the  Prince  ascended  the  throne 
he  was  twenty-six  years  of  age.  When 
Shakespeare    came   to    London,  and  en- 


196 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


tered  upon  his  royal  career  as  an  actor 
and  author,  he  was  about  the  same  age. 
This  was  the  turning-point  in  his  career. 
He  had  till  then  but  played  and  dallied 
with  the  world  ;  he  now  began  to  work. 
Like  the  Prince,  he  now  determined  to 
"  plod  like  a  man  for  working  days,"  and 
show  those  who  misjudged  him  what 
he  could  do,  and  how  much  they  had 
"looked  beyond  him."  He  would  dis- 
card, banish,  and  shake  off  forever  all  his 
wild  companions  and  rude  habits ;  he 
would  "turn  away  his  former  self  and 
"  live  to  show  the  incredulous  world  the 
noble  things  that  he  had  purposed." 
Being  now  awake  he  "  did  despise  his 
dream,"  for  he  was  "  no  longer  the  thing 
he  was."  All  the  old  deer-steal  in  a:  and 
riotous  practices  became  distasteful  to 
him,  and  he  went  vigorously  to  work  to 
learn  all  that  his  capacious  mind  could 
grasp.  He  noted  the  various  characters 
and  variegated  scenes  in  that  motley 
world  of  London,  then  beginning  to  be 
the  (greatest  center  of  life  and  intelli- 
gence    in    Europe  ;    studied  all  the   best 


PORTRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF. 


197 


books  he  could  lay  hands  on  ;  began  try- 
ing his  hand  at  composition ;  made  his 
way,  step  by  step,  from  the  retouching 
and  remodelling  of  old  plays  to  the  cre- 
ation of  new  ones ;  gained  a  footing 
among  his  fellow-actors  and  authors,  and 
a  reputation  among  the  public,  as  an 
excellent  dramatist  and  a  good  actor ; 
saved  his  money  and  sent  forty  pounds 
(equal  to  two  hundred  pounds  or  one 
thousand  dollars  of  our  present  money) 
to  his  father  to  relieve  a  mortgaged 
estate ;  and  before  he  was  thirty-three 
acquired  sufficient  wealth  to  purchase  the 
best  house  in  his  native  town  of  Stratford. 
Like  Warren  Hastings  at  Daylesford,  he 
seems  to  have  made  up  his  mind,  before 
leaving  Stratford,  that  he  would  recover 
the  ancestral  estates  by  the  exercise  of 
his  talents,  and  return  some  day  to  live 
in  ease  and  comfort  on  them.  He  had 
already  tried  his  hand  at  verse  before 
leaving  Stratford  ;  he  had  acquired  some 
literary  skill  in  the  composition  of  Venus 
and  Adonis ;  he  felt,  he  knew,  that  he 
could    do  better  ;    that  ho  could  accom- 


198 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


plish  greater  things  ;  so  he  turned  to  the 
drama,  not  only  because  it  was  more  re- 
munerative than  any  other  kind  of  com- 
position, but  because  it  was  a  more  di- 
rect means  of  making  himself  felt,  both 
among  the  people  and  among  the  rulers 
of  the  people.  "  The  tide  of  blood  in 
me,"  he  says  to  the  Chief  Justice, 

Hath  proudly  flowed  in  vanity  till  now  : 
Now  doth  it  turn,  and  ebb  back  to  the  sea, 
Where  it  shall  mingle  with  the  state  of  floods, 
And  flow  henceforth  in  formal  majesty. 

That  was  his  determination,  and  he 
made  it  good. 

He  now  be^an  to  associate  with  men 
of  rank  and  culture ;  the  Earl  of  South- 
ampton was  his  fast  friend  and  compan- 
ion ;  the  two  noble  brothers,  the  Earls  of 
Pembroke  and  of  Montgomery,  seem  to 
have  been  his  friends  and  patrons ;  he 
became  favorably  known  at  court,  and 
from  that  time  onward  he  was  a  new 
man  altogether.  Having  now  a  wife  and 
little  ones  to  provide  for,  every  motive 
worthy  of   a   man    called    upon    him    to 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  \  qq 

exert  himself,  to  bring  his  talents  into 
play,  and  to  disappoint  those  who  "  did 
pYophetically  forethink  his  fall."  Now  it 
was  he  turned  to  books,  and  devoured 
their  contents  with  the  "divine  hunger 
of  genius "  ;  now  it  was  he  laid  all  liter- 
ature  under  contribution  to  supply  his 
intellectual  wants ;  now  it  was  he  "  re- 
deemed time  when  men  thought  least  he 
would " ;  now  it  was  his  mind  became 
"a  paradise  to  envelop  and  contain  celes- 
tial spirits "  ;  now  it  was,  in  short,  he 
was  to  reign  in  a  kingdom  not  only 
greater  and  more  glorious  than  any  over 
which  his  predecessors  had  reigned,  but 
greater  and  more  enduring  than  ever 
king  or  queen  had  reigned  over. 

Even  the  "  small  Latin  and  less  Greek" 
he  must  have  acquired  at  this  time  ;  for 
how  much  of  these  could  he  have  acquired 
before  his  fourteenth  year  at  a  village 
school  ?  The  fact  that  he  knew  some- 
thing of  these  languages,  having  prob- 
ably acquired  a  working  knowledge  of 
both,  is  proof  positive  of  the  studious 
and    industrious    turn    he    took    at    this 


200  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

period,  and  of  the  serious  way  in  which 
he  spent  his  time.  In  this  very  play 
of  Henry  the  Fifth,  he  shows  how  well 
he  knew  French ;  and  whatever  other 
French  books  he  may  have  read,  there  is 
good  evidence,  from  a  certain  quotation, 
that  he  read  in  that  language  the  book 
of  books,  the  Geneva  edition  of  the 
French  Bible,  1583.  That  he  was  well 
acquainted  with  the  Bishops'  Bible  every- 
body knows.  I  believe  he  ransacked 
libraries  in  pursuit  of  knowledge,  and 
studied  languages  in  order  to  get  at 
their  literary  contents.  This  is  proved, 
I  think,  by  what  Ben  Jonson,  his  familiar 
friend,  says  of  him  in  his  famous  eulogy : 

Yet  must  I  not  give  nature  all ;  thy  art, 

My  gentle  Shakespeare,  must  enjoy  a  part ; 

For  though  the  poet's  matter  nature  be, 

His  art  doth  give  the  fashion  [shape].  And,  that  he 

Who  casts  to  write  a  living  line,  must  sweat 

(Such  as  thine  are),  and  strike  the  second  heat 

Upon  the  Muse's  anvil ;  turn  the  same, 

And  himself  with  it,  that  he  thinks  to  frame  ; 

Or,  for  the  laurel,  he  Ynay  gain  a  scorn, 

For  a  good  poet's  made  as  well  as  born  : 

And  such  wert  thou.     Look  how  the  father's  face 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  20 1 

Lives  in  his  issue  ;  even  so  the  race 

Of  Shakespeare's  mind  and  manners  brightly  shines 

In  his  well-turned  and  true-filed  lines  ; 

In  each  of  which  he  seems  to  shake  a  lance 

As  brandished  at  the  eyes  of  Ignorance. 

His  pages  teem  with  allusions  to  liter- 
ature of  the  best  sort,  and  nearly  all  his 
plots  are  taken  from  well-known  works 
of  fiction  in  the  English,  French,  Italian, 
and  Spanish  literatures.  He  had  sown 
his  wild  oats ;  he  had  done  with  wild- 
ness  and  unlettered  companions  ;  he  had 
"broken  through  the  clouds  of  ugly  mists 
and  vapors  that  did  seem  to  strangle 
him  " ;  and  thirsting  for  men  and  things 
of  a  nobler  order,  he  determined  to  make 
the  most  of  that  "tide  in  the  affairs  of 
men  which,  taken  at  the  flood,  leads  on 
to  fortune." 

Never  was  such  a  sudden  scholar  made  : 

Never  came  reformation  in  a  flood, 

With  such  a  heady  current,  scouring  faults; 

Nor  never  hydra-headed  wilfulness 

So  soon  did  lose  his  seat,  and  all  at  once, 

As  in  this  king. 

Could  anything  be  more  likely,  from 
what  we  know  of  Shakespeare's  life,  than 


202 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


that  he  drew  this  picture  from  his  own 
experience  ?  Could  anything  be  more 
probable,  seeing  that  all  his  characters 
are  actually  drawn  from  life  ?  This  prac- 
tice of  painting  one's  own  form  and  fea- 
ture under  another  name  is  by  no  means 
uncommon  among  authors.  It  is,  in  fact, 
a  very  common  practice.  Has  not  Field- 
ing painted  himself  in  "Tom  Jones"? 
Has  not  Dickens  described  himself  and 
his  early  companions  in  "  David  Copper- 
field  "  ?  Has  not  Goethe  given  us  his  real 
autobiography  in  "  Wilhelm  Meister"? 
Has  not  Walter  Scott  made  himself  the 
hero  of  "The  Antiquary,"  and  Balzac 
that  of  "Louis  Lambert"?  Has  not 
Byron  painted  himself  in  all  his  poems  ? 
And  why  should  not  Shakespeare,  the 
greatest  life-painter  of  them  all,  delineate 
himself  and  his  companions  in  one  of  his 
plays  ?  Why  should  not  he,  the  greatest 
of  realists,  paint  his  own  career  in  one 
of  his  delightful  dramas  ? 

There  is  no  field  like  experience ;  there 
is  no  ground  so  easily  described  as  that 
one  has  trodden  one's  self ;  there  are  no 


rORTRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF 


203 


scenes  so  vivid  and  real  to  our  minds 
as  those  we  have  witnessed  in  our  early 
days  ;  and,  consequently,  there  are  none 
on  which  writers  of  fiction  delight  so 
much  to  dwell.  Nowhere  does  an  author 
walk  with  so  sure  a  step  as  in  those 
paths  he  has  trodden  in  youth  ;  nowhere 
is  he  so  much  at  home  as  among  his  early 
friends  and  companions.  In  fact,  the 
best  works  of  the  great  masters  of  fiction 
are  generally  drawn  from  their  own  life- 
material  ;  and  as  Fielding  is  at  his  best  in 
"Tom  Jones,"  Dickens  in  "  David  Cop- 
perfield,"  and  Goethe  in  "  Wilhelm  Meis- 
ter,"  so  is  Shakespeare  at  his  best  in 
Henry  IV.  Macaulay  calls  it  the  finest  of 
his  comedies  ;  and  Johnson  declares  that 
"perhaps  no  author  has  ever,  in  two 
plays  {Henry  IV.  and  V.),  afforded  so 
much  delight."  Even  in  his  own  day  it 
was  perhaps  the  most  highly  appreciated 
and  most  popular  of  all  his  plays.  "  It 
may  fairly  be  questioned,"  says  Mr.  Hal- 
Hwell-Phillipps,  "if  any  comedy  on  the 
early  English  stage  was  more  immedi- 
ately or  enthusiastically  appreciated  than 


204  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

was  the  First  Part  of  Henry  the  Fottrtk" 
There  were  no  fewer  than  six  editions 
published  in  the  author's  lifetime,  and  it 
became  the  favorite  comedy,  not  only  of 
the  populace,  but  of  the  Queen  and  the 
court.  There  is  more  wit,  fun,  humor, 
life,  and  philosophy  in  this  play  than  in 
anything  else  he  has  written.  It  is,  as 
Lord  Bacon  said  of  his  confession,  "  his 
hand,  his  head,  his  heart,"  his  very  self  as 
he  lived.  "  The  drama  of  Henry  IV., 
taking  the  two  parts  as  artistically  one," 
says  Mr.  Hudson,  "is  deservedly  ranked 
among  the  very  highest  of  Shakespeare's 
achievements.  The  characterization, 
whether  for  quantity,  quality,  or  variety, 
or  whether  regarded  in  the  individual  de- 
velopment  or  in  the  dramatic  combina- 
tion, is  above  all  praise.  And  yet,  large 
and  free  as  is  the  scope  here  given  to  in- 
vention, the  parts  are  all  strictly  subordi- 
nated to  the  idea  of  the  whole  as  an  his- 
torical drama;  insomuch  that  even  Fal- 
staff,  richly  ideal  as  is  the  character, 
everywhere  helps  on  the  history,  a  whole 
century  of  old  English  wit  and  sense  and 


PORTRAYED  BY  HIMSELF. 


205 


humor  being  crowded  together  and  com- 
pacted in  him." 

As  I  have  already  said,  Shakespeare 
no  more  invented  men  and  women  than 
he  invented  plots  ;  he  simply  drew  such 
men  and  women  as  he  was  acquainted 
with,  and  set  down  such  conversations  as 
he  heard  around  him.  "  Shakespeare," 
says  Richard  Grant  White,  ''  invented 
nothing,  and  created  nothing  but  charac- 
ter. The  greatest  of  dramatists,  he  con- 
tributed to  the  drama  nothing  but  him- 
self ;  the  greatest  of  poets,  he  gave  to 
poetry  not  even  a  new  rhythm  or  a 
new  stanza."  Character-painting  was  his 
forte  ;  and  surely  there  was  no  character 
he  knew  so  well  and  could  paint  so  easily 
as  his  own.  "  Genius  is  not  a  creator 
in  the  sense  of  feigning  or  fancying  what 
does  not  exist,"  says  Dr.  Channing  ;  "  its 
distinction  consists  in  discerning  more 
of  truth  than  ordinary  minds."  Shake- 
speare discerned  and  understood  the  char- 
acter of  men  and  women  more  profoundly 
than  others,  and  he  had  the  power  of 
painting  them  more  fairly  and  truly  than 


2o5  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

others.     Goethe  says  that  any  character 
that  will  bear  examination  must  be  taken 
from    real    life  ;  and    that    is  why    every 
character  in  Shakespeare  will    bear   the 
closest  examination.      Ben  Jonson,  wish- 
ing  to    expose  a  vice    or   a  passion   on 
the  stage,  built  up  a  character  to  suit  it : 
to  expose  avarice,  he  made  a  character 
avaricious  in  all  he  said,  thought  and  did. 
That  was  not    Shakespeare's   way.     He 
did  not  care  so  much  to  paint  vices  or 
virtues   as   to    paint    men ;    he    thought 
only  of  the  man  or  woman,  not  of   the 
vices,  and   painted  him  or  her  as  he  or 
she  actually  was,  with  all  the  blemishes, 
as  Cromwell  wished  the  painter  to  paint 
him.      He  was   the  true  realistic  painter 
of  the  age,  revealing  human  nature  in  all 
its  shapes  and  forms ;  in  its  richness  and 
its    poverty ;    its   symmetry    and    its    de- 
formity ;  its  nobility  and  its  degradation ; 
and  in    so   doing   he   found   his  models 
among  the  various  classes  of  people  with 
whom  he  came  in  personal  contact. 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  207 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Shakespeare's    learning  —  his    experi- 
ence in  foreign  travel. 

AFTER  quoting  various  arguments 
by  which  certain  writers  endeavor 
to  prove  that  Shakespeare  read  only 
translations,  Dr.  Maginn  rightly  ex- 
claims, "  How  does  all  this  trumpery 
prove  that  he  was  not  able  to  read  Plu- 
tarch in  the  original  ?"  It  is  well  known 
that  many  persons  who  can  easily  read  a 
book  in  a  foreign  tongue  prefer  a  trans- 
lation when  they  can  get  it.  Emerson 
declares  that  he  never  read  an  original 
when  he  could  procure  a  translation.  I 
know  that,  although  I  can  read  French 
and  German  almost  as  easily  and  intelli- 
gently as  English,  I  prefer  a  translation 
of  any  French  or  German  book  when  I 
can  get  it  ;  and  if  I  wished  to  construct  a 
story  or  an  essay  on  the  contents  of  that 


208  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

book,  I  should  certainly  study  the  trans- 
lation in  preference  to  the  original.  The 
translation  comes  nearer  home  ;  enters 
and  lodges  in  the  mind  more  readily  ; 
and  more  naturally  forms  a  part  of  one's 
thoughts.  Reading  in  a  foreign  tongue 
makes  one  think  in  a  foreign  way  ;  and 
perhaps  one  reason  why  Shakespeare 
wrote  such  admirable  English,  is  because 
his  sources  were  in  that  language,  which 
did  not  prevent  the  natural  flow  of  purely 
English  words  and  phrases. 

As  to  Shakespeare's  knowledge  of 
Latin,  Dr.  Maginn  makes  the  very  im- 
portant statement,  with  reference  to 
Jonson's  testimony  of  "  small  Latin  and 
less  Greek,"  that  the  possession  of  any 
Greek  knowledge  at  all  in  the  days 
of  Elizabeth  argues  a  very  respectable 
knowledge  of  Latin  ;  because  at  that 
time,  it  was  only  through  Latin,  and  by 
means  of  no  small  acquaintance  with  its 
literature,  that  the  Greek  language  could 
be  ever  so  slightly  studied. 

Now  if  Shakespeare  could  read  Greek 
and     Latin,    what     advantage     had    the 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


209 


university-bred  men  over  him  ?  The 
training,  the  intellectual  discipline,  it 
will  be  said.  The  training  is  something  ; 
but  to  a  mind  like  Shakespeare's,  a 
hint  will  do  more  than  painful  explana- 
tions to  another.  We  all  know  that  self- 
exertion  is  far  more  beneficial  in  educa- 
tion than  all  learning  from  teachers  ; 
that,  in  fact,  the  main  effort  of  all  good 
teachers  now-a-days  is  to  make  scholars 
teach  themselves  ;  and  this  is  what 
Shakespeare  did  for  himself.  It  is  well 
known  that  most  college  students,  after 
devoting  thousands  of  hours  to  the  study 
of  Greek  grammar,  drop  the  whole  sub- 
ject forever.  They  get  in  at  the  gate  of 
the  treasure-house,  and  then  turn  and 
leave  it  without  even  glancing  at  its  con- 
tents. Shakespeare  studied  Greek  for 
the  express  purpose  of  getting  into  the 
treasure-house  and  examining  its  contents. 
He  left  the  grammar  to  pedagogues ; 
what  he  wanted  was  the  thought,  the 
feeling,  the  sentiment,  the  history  of'  the 
Greeks  ;  and  these,  it  seems,  he  got.  It 
was  not,  however,  his   knowledge  of  the 

»4 


2 1  o  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

Greek  language  or  literature  that  enabled 
him  to  do  what  he  did ;  it  was  his  innate 
genius,  his  wonderful  perception  of  the 
character  of  men  as  he  saw  them  about 
him.  The  Greeks  themselves,  who  ex- 
celled all  others  in  art,  knew  no  language 
but  their  own  ;  and  Shakespeare  would 
probably  have  excelled  all  others  had  he 
known  no  language  but  his  own. 

I  wish  to  lay  before  the  reader,  in  this 
chapter,  two  remarkable  passages  from 
good  writers,  showing  that  Shakespeare 
had  studied  more  and  travelled  farther 
than  is  generally  supposed.  The  first, 
which  is  from  Mr.  T.  Spencer  Baynes' 
account  of  Shakespeare,  in  the  "  Ency- 
clopaedia Britannica,"  is  strongly  confirm- 
atory of  my  view  of  the  Poet's  early 
career  in  London  ;  and  the  second,  from 
Mr.  C.  A.  Brown's  book  on  Shake- 
speare's Sonnets,  presents  some  remark- 
ably strong  arguments  to  show  that 
Shakespeare   must   have  seen    Italy. 

"  His  leisure  hours  during  his  first  year  in  Lon- 
don." says  Mr.  Baynes,  "  would  naturally  be  devoted 
to  continuing  his  education  and  equipping  himself 
as   fully   as   possible   for   his    future   work.     It  was 


FOR  TEA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  2 1 1 

probably  during  this  time,  as  Mr.  Halliwell-Phillipps 
suggests,  that  he  acquired  the  working  knowledge  of 
French  and  Italian  that  his  writings  show  he  must 
have  possessed.  And  it  is  perhaps  now  possible  to 
point  out  the  sources  whence  his  knowledge  of  these 
languages  was  derived,  or  at  least  the  master  under 
whom  he  chiefly  studied  them.  The  most  cele- 
brated and  accomplished  teacher  of  French  and 
Italian  in  Shakespeare's  clay  was  the  resolute  John 
Florio,  who,  after  leaving  Magdalen  College,  Ox- 
ford, lived  for  years  in  London,  engaged  in  tutorial 
and  literary  work,  and  intimately  associated  with 
eminent  men  of  letters  and  their  noble  patrons. 
After  the  accession  of  James  I.,  Florio  was  made 
tutor  to  Prince  Henry,  received  an  appointment 
about  the  court,  became  the  friend  and  personal  fa- 
vorite of  Queen  Anne  (to  whom  he  dedicated  the 
second  edition  of  his  Italian  dictionary,  entitled 
4  The  World  of  Words  '),  and  died  full  of  years  and 
honors  in  1625,  having  survived  Shakespeare  nine 
years.  Florio  had  married  the  sister  of  Daniel  the 
poet,  and  Ben  Jonson  presented  a  copy  of  'The 
Fox '  to  him,  with  the  inscription,  '  To  his  loving 
father  and  worthy  friend  Master  John  Plorio,  Ben 
Jonson  seals  this  testimony  of  his  friendship  and 
love.'  Daniel  writes  a  poem  of  some  length  in 
praise  of  his  translation  of  Montaigne,  while  other 
contemporary  poets  contribute  commendatory  verses 
which  are  prefixed  to  his  other  publications.  There 
are  substantial  reasons  for  believing  that  Shake- 
speare was  also  one   of  Florio's  friends,  and   that 


2 t 2  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

during  his  early  years  in  London  he  evinced  his 
friendship  by  yielding  for  once  to  the  fashions  of 
writing  this  kind  of  eulogistic  verse. 

"  Prefixed  to  Florio's  '  Second  Fruits,'  Professor 
Minto  discovered  a  sonnet  so  superior  and  char- 
acteristic that  he  was  impressed  with  the  convic- 
tion that  Shakespeare  must  have  written  it.  The 
internal  evidence  is  in  favor  of  this  conclusion, 
while  Mr.  Minto's  critical  analysis  and  comparison 
of  its  thought  and  diction  with  Shakespeare's  early 
work  tends  strongly  to  support  the  reality  and  value 
of  the  discovery.  In  his  next  work,  produced  four 
years  later,  Florio  claims  the  sonnet  as  the  work  of 
a  friend  '  who  loved  better  to  be  a  poet  than  to  be 
called  one,'*  and  vindicates  it  from  the  indirect 
attack  of  a  hostile  critic,  H.  S.,  who  had  also  dis- 
paraged the  work  in  which  it  appeared.  There  are 
other  points  of  connection  between  Florio  and 
Shakespeare.  The  only  known  volume  that  cer- 
tainly belonged  to  Shakespeare  and  contains  his 
autograph  is  Florio's  version  of  Montaigne's  Essays 
in  the  British  Museum  ;  and  critics  have  from 
time  to  time  produced  evidence  to  show  that  Shake- 
speare must  have  read  it  carefully  and  was  well 
acquainted  with  its  contents.  Victor  Hugo,  in  a 
powerful  critical  passage,  strongly  supports  this 
view.  The  most  striking  single  proof  of  the  point 
is  Gonzalo's  ideal  republic  in  The  Tempest,  which  is 
simply  a  passage  from  Florio's  version  turned  into 

*  Does  not  this  look  like  the  modesty  of  the  Poet,  who  did 
not  care,  to  see  even  his  greatest  works  In  print  ? — W 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  V  HIMSELF.  2 1 3 

blank  verse.  Florio  and  Shakespeare  were  both, 
moreover,  intimate  personal  friends  of  the  young 
Earl  of  Southampton,  who,  in  harmony  with  his 
generous  character  and  strong  literary  tastes,  was 
the  munificent  patron  of  each.  Shakespeare,  it  will 
be  remembered,  dedicated  his  Venus  and  Adonis 
and  his  Lucrece  to  this  young  nobleman  ;  and  three 
years  later,  in  1598,  Florio  dedicated  the  first  edition 
of  his  Italian  dictionary  to  the  Earl  in  terms  that 
almost  recall  Shakespeare's  words.  Shakespeare 
had  said,  in  addressing  the  Earl,  'What  I  have 
clone  is  yours  ;  what  I  have  to  do  is  yours  ;  being 
part  in  all  I  have  devoted  yours.'  And  Florio  says, 
'  In  truth,  I  acknowledge  an  entire  debt,  not  only  of 
my  best  knowledge,  but  of  all,  yea  of  more  that  I 
know  or  can,  to  your  bounteous  lordship,  most  noble, 
most  virtuous,  and  most  honorable  Earl  of  South- 
ampton, in  whose  pay  and  patronage  I  have  lived 
some  years,  to  whom  I  owe  and  vow  the  years  I 
have  to  live.' 

"  Shakespeare  was  also  familiar  with  Florio's  ear- 
lier works,  his  '  First  Fruits  '  and  '  Second  Fruits,' 
which  were  simply  carefully  prepared  manuals  for 
the  study  of  Italian,  containing  an  outline  of  the 
grammar,  a  selection  of  dialogues  in  parallel  col- 
umns of  Italian  and  English,  and  longer  extracts 
from  classical  Italian  writers  in  prose  and  verse. 
We  have  collected  various  points  of  indirect  evi- 
dence showing  Shakespeare's  familiarity  with  these 
manuals,  but  these  being  numerous  and  minute  can- 
not be  given  here.     It  must  suffice  to  refer,  in  illus- 


214 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


tration  of  this  point  to  a  single  instance — lines  in 
praise  of  Venice  which  Holofernes  gives  forth  with 
so  much  unction  in  Love's  Labor's  Lost.  The  '  First 
Fruits  '  was  published  in  1578,  and  was  for  some  years 
the  most  popular  manual  for  the  study  of  Italian.  It 
is  the  book  which  Shakespeare  would  naturally  have 
used  in  attempting  to  acquire  a  knowledge  of  the 
Italian  after  his  arrival  in  London  ;  and  on  finding 
that  the  author  was  the  friend  of  some  of  his  liter- 
ary associates,  he  would  probably  have  sought  his 
acquaintance  and  secured  his  personal  help.  As 
Florio  was  also  a  French  scholar  and  habitually 
taught  both  languages,  Shakespeare  probably  owed 
to  him  his  knowledge  of  French  as  well  as  of  Italian. 
If  the  sonnet  is  accepted  as  Shakespeare's  work  he 
must  have  made  Florio's  acquaintance  within  a  year 
or  two  after  going  to  London,  as  in  1591  he  appears 
in  the  character  of  a  personal  friend  and  well-wisher. 
In  any  case  Shakespeare  would  almost  certainly 
have  met  Florio  a  few  years  later  at  the  house  of 
Lord  Southampton,  with  whom  the  Italian  scholar 
seems  to  have  resided  occasionally.  It  also  ap- 
pears that  he  was  in  the  habit  of  visiting  at  several 
titled  houses,  amongst  others  those  of  the  Earl  of 
Bedford  and  Sir  John  Harrington.  It  seems  also 
probable  that  he  may  have  assisted  Harrington  in 
his  translation  of  Ariosto. 

"Another  and  perhaps  even  more  direct  link 
connecting  Shakespeare  with  Florio  during  his 
early  years  in  London  is  found  in  their  common 
relation  to  the  family  of  Lord  Derby.     In  the  year 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  2  1 5 

1585  Florio  translated  a  letter  of  news  from 
Rome,  giving  an  account  of  the  sudden  death  of 
Pope  Gregory  XIII.  and  the  election  of  his  suc- 
cessor. This  translation,  published  in  July,  1585, 
was  dedicated  '  To  the  right  excellent  and  honor- 
able lord,  Henry,  Earl  of  Derby,'  in  terms  expres- 
sive of  Florio's  strong  personal  obligations  to  the 
Earl  and  devotion  to  his  service.  Three  years  later, 
on  the  death  of  Leicester  in  1588,  Lord  Derby's 
eldest  son  Ferdinando,  Lord  Strange,  became  the 
patron  of  Leicester's  company  of  players,  which 
Shakespeare  had  recently  joined.  The  new  patron 
must  have  taken  special  interest  in  the  company, 
as  they  soon  became  (chiefly  through  his  influence) 
great  favorites  at  court,  superseding  the  Queen's 
players,  and  enjoying  something  like  a  practical 
monopoly  of  royal  representations.  Shakespeare 
would  thus  have  the  opportunity  of  making  Florio's 
acquaintance  at  the  outset  of  his  London  career,  and 
everything  tends  to  show  that  he  did  not  miss  the 
chance  of  numbering  among  his  personal  friends  so 
accomplished  a  scholar,  so  alert,  energetic,  and  orig- 
inal a  man  of  letters,  as  the  resolute  John  Florio." 

After  this,  the  reader  will  be  ready  to 
peruse  with  interest  the  following  re- 
markable passage  from  a  very  clever  work 
by  Charles  Armitage  Brown  ("  Shake- 
speare's Autobiographical  Poems,"  Lon- 
don,   1838,   Bohn),   proving  almost  to  a 


2 1 6  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

demonstration  that  Shakespeare  had  a 
personal  knowledge  of  Italy  and  the 
Italians — a  passage  which  is  quoted  and 
endorsed  by  no  less  a  scholar  than  Dr. 
Maginn  in  his  "  Shakespeare  Studies  "  : 

"  I  proceed,"  says  Mr.  Brown,  "  to  show  he  was 
in  Italy  from  the  internal  evidence  of  his  works  ; 
and  I  begin  with  his  Taming  of  the  Shrew,  where 
the  evidence  is  the  strongest.  This  comedy  was  en- 
tirely re-written  from  an  older  one  by  an  unknown 
hand,  with  some,  but  not  many,  additions  to  the 
fable.  It  should  first  be  observed,  that  in  the  older 
comedy,  which  we  possess,  the  scene  is  laid  in 
and  near  Athens,  and  that  Shakespeare  removed 
it  to  Padua  and  its  neighborhood  ;  an  unnecessary 
change,  if  he  knew  no  more  of  one  country  than  of 
the  other.  The  dramatis  persona  next  attract  our 
attention.  Baptista  is  no  longer  erroneously  the 
name  of  a  woman,  as  in  Hamlet,  but  of  a  man.*  All 
the  other  names,  except  one,  are  pure  Italian,  though 
most  of  them  are  adapted  to  the  English  ear. 
Biondello,  the  name  of  a  boy,  seems  chosen  with  a 
knowledge  of  the  language — as  it  signifies  a  little 
fair-haired  fellow.  Even  the  shrew  has  the  Italian 
termination  to  her  name  Katharina.  The  excep- 
tion is  Curtis,  Petruchio's   servant,  seemingly    the 

*  For  a  reason  which  the  reader  will  see  in  the  next  chapter, 
let  him  notice  that  this  is  another  proof  that  the  first  draft 
of  Hamlet  was  an  early  production. 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  2  1 7 

housekeeper  at  his  villa ;  which,  as  it  is  an  insigni- 
ficant part,  may  have  been  the  name  of  the  player ; 
but,  more  probably,  it  is  a  corruption  of  Cortese. 

"Act  I.,  scene  1.  A  public  place.  For  an  open 
place,  or  a  square  in  a  city,  this  is  not  a  home-bred 
expression.  It  may  be  accidental ;  yet  it  is  a  literal 
translation  of  una  piazza  publica,  exactly  what  was 
meant  for  the  scene. 

"  The  opening  of  the  comedy,  which  speaks  of 
Lombardy  and  the  university  of  Padua,  might  have 
been  written  by  a  native  Italian  : 

"  '  Tranio,  since — for  the  great  desire  I  had 
To  see  fair  Padua,  nursery  of  arts, — 
I  am  arrived  for  fruitful  Lombardy, 
The  pleasant  garden  of  great  Italy. 

*  *  *  * 

Here  let  us  breathe,  and  happily  institute 
A  course  of  learning,  and  ingenious  studies.' 

"  The  very  next  line  I  found  myself  involuntarily 
repeating,  at  the  sight  of  the  grave  countenances 
within  the  walls  of  Pisa  : 

"  '  Pisa,  renowned  for  grave  citizens.'  * 

*  It  could  hardly  be  expected  that,  while  I  write,  a  con- 
firmatory commentary,  and  from  the  strangest  quarter,  should 
turn  up  on  these  words  ;  but  so  it  is.  A  quarrel  lately  oc- 
curred in  Youghal,  arising  from  a  dispute  about  precedency 
between  two  ladies  at  a  ball ;  and  one  of  the  witnesses,  a 
travelled  gentleman,  in  his   cross-examination,  gives  the   fol- 

lowing  opinion  of  Pisa  :  "  I  did  not  see in  the  room  that 

night ;  he  is  now   in  Pisa,  which  I    don't  think  a  pleasanter 

place  than  a  court  of  justice :  I  think  it  a   d d  sickening 

place.     It  is  much  too  holy  for  me."     This    was  deposed  to 
so  lately  as  the  10th  of  October,  1839. — Maginn. 


2 1 8  WILLIAM  SHAKES  PEA  RE 

They  are  altogether  a  grave  people,  in  their  de- 
meanor, their  history,  and  their  literature,  such  as  it 
is.  I  never  met  with  the  anomaly  of  a  merry  Pisan. 
Curiously  enough,  this  line  is  repeated,  word  for 
word  in  the  fourth  act.  Lucentio  says,  his  father 
came  'of  the  Bentivolii.'  This  is  an  old  Italian 
plural.  A  mere  Englishman  would  write  '  of  the 
Bentivolios.'  Besides,  there  was,  and  is,  a  branch  of 
the  Bentivolii  in  Florence,  where  Lucentio  says  he 
was  brought  up.  But  these  indications,  just  at  the 
commencement  of  the  play,  are  not  of  great  force. 

"  We  now  come  to  something  more  important  ; 
a  remarkable  proof  of  his  having  been  aware  of 
the  law  of  the  country  in  respect  to  the  betroth- 
ment  of  Katharina  and  Petruchio,  of  which  there  is 
not  a  vestige  in  the  older  play.  The  father  gives 
her  hand  to  him,  both  parties  consenting,  before  two 
witnesses,  who  declare  themselves  such  to  the  act. 
Such  a  ceremony  is  as  indissoluble  as  that  of  mar- 
riage, unless  both  parties  should  consent  to  annul 
it.  The  betrothment  takes  place  in  due  form,  ex- 
actly as  in  many  of  Goldoni's  comedies  : 

Baptista Give  me  your  hands  ; 

God  send  you  joy,  Petruchio  !  'tis  a  match. 

Gremio  and  Tranio.    Amen  !   say  we  ;  we  will  be  witnesses. 

Instantly  Petruchio  addresses  them  as  '  father  and 
wife  ' ;  because,  from  that  moment,  he  possesses  the 
legal  power  of  a  husband  over  her,  saving  that  of  tak- 
ing her  to  his  own  house.  Unless  the  betrothment 
is  understood    in   this  light,  we  cannot  account  for 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  2 1 9 

the  father's  so  tamely  yielding  afterwards  to  Petru- 
chio's  whim  of  going  in  his  'mad  attire  '  with  her  to 
the  church.  Authority  is  no  longer  with  the  father ; 
in  vain  he  hopes  and  requests  the  bridegroom  will 
change  his  clothes  ;  Petruchio  is  peremptory  in  his 
lordly  will  and  pleasure,  which  he  could  not  possi- 
bly be,  without  the  previous  Italian  betrothment. 

"  Padua  lies  between  Verona  and  Venice,  at  a 
suitable  distance  from  both,  for  the  conduct  of  the 
comedy.  Petruchio,  after  being  securely  betrothed, 
sets  off  for  Venice,  the  very  place  for  finery,  to  buy 
'  rings  and  things,  and  fine  array  '  for  the  wedding  ; 
and,  when  married,  he  takes  her  to  his  country- 
house  in  the  direction  of  Verona,  of  which  city  he 
is  a  native.  All  this  is  complete,  and  in  marked  op- 
position to  the  worse  than  mistakes  in  the  Two  Gen- 
tlemen of  Verona,  which  was  written  when  he  knew 
nothing  whatever  of  the  country. 

"  The  rich  old  Gremio,  when  questioned  respect- 
ing the  dower  he  can  assure  to  Pianca,  boasts,  as  a 
primary  consideration,  of  his  richly  furnished  house  : 

First,  as  you  know,  my  house  within  the  city 

Is  richly  furnished  with  plate  and  gold  ; 

basins  and  ewers,  to  lave  her  dainty  hands  ; 

My  hangings  all  of  Tynan  tapestry  : 

In  ivory  coffers  I  have  stuffed  my  crowns, 

In  cypress  chests  my  arras,  counterpoints, 

Costly  apparel,  tents,  and  canopies  ; 

Fine  linen,  Turkey  cushions  'bossed  with  pearl, 

Valance  of  Venice  gold  in  needlework  ; 

Pewter  and  brass,  and  all  things  that  belong 

To  house,  or  housekeeping. 


220  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

"  Lady  Morgan,  in  her  '  Italy,'  says  (and  my  own 
observation  corroborates  her  account)  :  '  There  is 
not  an  article  here  described,  that  I  have  not  found 
in  some  one  or  other  of  the  palaces  of  Florence, 
Venice,  and  Genoa — the  mercantile  republics  of 
Italy — even  to  the  '  Turkey  cushions  'bossed  with 
pearl.'  She  then  adds,  '  This  is  the  knowledge  of 
genius,  acquired  by  the  rapid  perception  and  intui- 
tive appreciation,'  etc.,  never  once  suspecting  that 
Shakespeare  had  been  an  eye-witness  of  such  furni- 
ture. For  my  part,  unable  to  comprehend  the  in- 
tuitive knowledge  of  genius,  in  opposition  to  her 
ladyship's  opinion,  I  beg  leave  to  quote  Dr.  John- 
son :  '  Shakespeare,  however  favored  by  nature, 
could  impart  only  what  he  had  learned.'  With  this 
text  as  our  guide,  it  behooves  us  to  point  out  how 
he  could  obtain  such  an  intimate  knowledge  of 
facts,  without  having  been,  like  Lady  Morgan,  an 
eye-witness  to  them. 

"  In  addition  to  these  instances,  the  whole  com- 
edy bears  an  Italian  character,  and  seems  written 
as  if  the  author  had  said  to  his  friends,  '  Now  I  will 
give  you  a  comedy,  built  on  Italian  manners,  neat 
as  I  myself  have  imported.'  Indeed,  did  I  not 
know  its  archetype,  with  the  scene  in  Athens,  I 
might  suspect  it  to  be  an  adaptation  of  some  un- 
known Italian  play,  retaining  rather  too  many  local 
allusions  for  the  English  stage. 

"  Some  may  argue  that  it  was  possible  for  him 
to  learn  all  this  from  books  of  travels  now  lost,  or 
in  conversation  with  travellers  ;  but  my  faith  recoils 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  2  2  I 

from  so  bare  a  possibility,  when  the  belief  that  he 
saw  what  he  described  is,  in  every  point  of  view, 
without  difficulty,  and  probable.  Books  and  con- 
versation may  do  much  for  an  author ;  but,  should 
he  descend  to  particular  descriptions,  or  venture  to 
speak  of  manners  and  customs  intimately,  is  it  pos- 
sible he  should  not  once  fall  into  error  with  no 
better  instruction  ?  An  objection  has  been  made, 
imputing  an  error,  in  Gremio's  question,  '  Are  the 
rushes  strewed  1 '  But  the  custom  of  strewing 
rushes  in  England  belonged  also  to  Italy ;  this  may 
be  seen  in  old  authors,  and  their  very  word  giuncare, 
now  out  of  use,  is  a  proof  of  it.  English  Christian 
names,  incidentally  introduced,  are  but  translations 
of  the  same  Italian  names,  as  Catarina  is  called 
Katharine  and  Kate ;  and,  if  they  were  not,  comedy 
may  well  be  allowed  to  take  a  liberty  of  that  na- 
ture." 

To  which  Dr.  Maginn  adds  : 

"This,  certainly,  is  ingenious,  as  also  are  the  ar- 
guments drawn  by  Mr.  Brown  from  Othello  and  the 
Mercha?it  of  Venice  ;  and  I  understand  that  a  later 
lady-traveller  in  Italy  than  Lady  Morgan  coincides 
in  the  same  view  of  the  case;  and  she  is  a  lady* 
who  ought  to  know  '  How  to  Observe.'  At  all 
events,  there  is  nothing  improbable  in  assuming  that 
Shakespeare,  or  any  other  person  of  cultivated  mind 
or  easy  fortune — and  he  was  both — should  have  vis- 

*  Harriet  Martincau. 


222  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

ited  the  famed  and  fashionable  land  of  Italy.  There 
was  much  more  energy  and  action  among  the  liter- 
erary  men — among  men  in  general,  indeed,  of  the 
days  of  Elizabeth,  than  of  the  last  century;  when 
making  the  'grand  tour/  as  they  called  it,  was  con- 
sidered an  undertaking  to  be  ventured  on  only  by  a 
great  lord  or  squire,  who  looked  upon  it  as  a  formal 

matter  of  his  life 'In  great  Eliza's  golden 

time,'  the  nation  was  not  only  awake,  but  vigorous 
in  the  rude  strength  of  manly  activity.  The  spirit 
of  sea-adventure  was  not  dead  while  Drake  and  his 
brother  '  shepherds  of  the  ocean  '  lived  ;  and  an  en- 
thusiastic mind  of  that  period  would  think  far  less, 
and  make  far  less  talk,  about  a  voyage  to  the  Spanish 
Main,  than  Johnson  did,  near  a  couple  of  centuries 
afterward,  of  jolting  to  the  North  of  Scotland.  The 
activity  of  Shakespeare  or  his  contemporaries  is  not 
to  be  judged  of  by  the  sloth  of  their  ancestors  '  upon 
town,'  or  '  in  the  literary  world.'  It  is  to  me  evident 
that  Shakespeare  had  been  at  sea,  from  his  vivid 
description  of  maritime  phenomena,  and  his  knowl- 
edge of  the  management  of  a  vessel,  whether  in 
calm  or  in  storm." 

Considering,  therefore,  how  little  we 
know  of  the  life  of  the  Poet,  and  how 
much  he  knew  of  the  world,  what  scenes 
may  he  not  have  witnessed,  wh5t  peoples 
may  he  not  have  seen,  and  what  subjects 
may  he   not  have  studied,   that   we   wot 


FOR TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  22X 

not  of !  His  friend  the  Earl  of  South- 
ampton was  captain  of  one  of  the  princi- 
pal ships  in  the  expedition  against  Spain 
in  1597,  and  afterwards  had  the  command 
of  a  squadron  under  Essex.  May  not 
the  Poet  have  accompanied  him  on  one 
of  his  voyages  ?  His  knowledge  of  the 
Continent  is  too  marvellously  exact  to 
have  been  learned  at  second  hand. 
Take,  for  instance,  the  Prince's,  or  rath- 
er King  Henry's  description  of  French 
ground.  The  first  thing  that  strikes  one, 
on  making  a  journey  from  England  to 
France,  is  the  difference  in  the  general 
aspect  of  French  soil,  which  looks  dull 
and  dark  compared  with  that  of  England. 
Now    mark   how    King  Henry  describes 

it: 

If  we  be  hindered, 
We  shall  your  tawny  ground  with  your  red   blood 
Discolor. 

I  have  been  in  France,  and  I  know  no 
word  that  describes  its  soil  so  exactly  as 
this.  Now  which  is  more  probable,  that 
the  Poet's  knowledge  came  from  reading 
travellers'   books,    or    that  it  came  from 


224  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

actual  observation  ?  So  sure  as  Prince 
Henry  had  seen  France  with  his  own 
eyes,  so  sure  had  Shakespeare.  Why, 
France  is  so  near  to  England,  its  coast 
may  be  descried  with  the  naked  eye 
from  various  parts  of  the  island !  And 
yet  Mr.  Donnelly  thinks  that  the  Poet 
never  even  saw  the  sea ! 

In  view,  too,  of  what  Mr.  Spencer  T. 
Baynes  shows  of  Shakespeare's  early 
career  and  linguistic  studies  in  London, 
and  of  Ben  Jonson's  testimony  as  to  his 
studiousness  and  knowledge  even  of  the 
dead  languages,  how  absurd,  nay  how 
scandalous  it  is  for  Mr.  Donnelly  to 
speak  of  him  as  an  ignoramus,  a  drunken 
sot,  etc.,  etc.! 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


225 


CHAPTER  XV. 

CONTEMPORARY      REFERENCES      TO      SHAKE- 
SPEARE  HIS    HOME-LIFE. 

THERE  was  no  critical  literature  of 
the  stage  in  Shakespeare's  time ; 
but  there  are  some  references  to  him 
and  his  plays  by  his  contemporaries  that 
are  exceedingly  interesting.  Among 
these  is  that  of  the  dying  dramatist 
Greene,  who,  when  he  offered  his  ad- 
vice and  warning  to  his  literary  fellow- 
workers,  Peele,  Lodge,  Marlowe,  and 
the  rest,  had  nothing  but  a  sneering 
allusion  for  Shakespeare.  Fortunately, 
the  ground  of  his  dislike  is  obvious  ; 
and  this  makes  his  allusion  all  the  more 
important.  It  occurs  in  his  "  Groats- 
worth  of  Wit  bought  with  a  Million 
of  Repentance,"  published  in  1592. 

Shakespeare    was    at    this    time  a  dif- 

'5 


22g  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

ferent  sort  of  man  from  Greene  and 
the  other  roysterers  ;  he  had  got  beyond 
roystering  ;  he  had  sounded  the  depths 
of  folly  ;  and  having  discovered  its  unpro- 
fitableness, had  now  become  an  earnest 
student,  a  close  thinker  and  hard  worker. 
Diligently  yet  quietly  and  unostenta- 
tiously laboring  in  his  profession,  he  had 
climbed  so  high  and  gained  such  a  prom- 
inent place  in  public  favor,  that  he  excited 
the  envy  of  poor  Greene.  "  Yes,  trust 
them  not,"  says  he  ;  "  for  there  is  an  up- 
start crow,  beautified  with  our  feathers, 
who,  with  his  tiger's  heart  wrapped  in  a 
player's  hide,  supposes  he  is  as  well  able 
to  bombast  out  a  blank  verse  as  the  best 
of  you  ;  and  being  an  absolute  Johannes 
Factotum,  is  in  his  own  conceit  the  only 
Shake-scene  in  the  country."  The  ex- 
pression "  with  a  tiger's  heart  wrapped 
in  a  player's  hide  "  is  a  parody  of  the  line, 

Oh  tiger's  heart  wrapped  in  a  woman's  hide ! 

which  is  found  in  the  Duke  of  York's 
speech  in  the  Third  Part  of  Henry  the 
Sixth. 


FOR  TEA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF. 


227 


Ah,  indeed  !  he  was  a  Factotum,  was 
he  ?  Well,  that  shows  how  skilful,  how 
industrious,  how  willing  and  useful  he 
was  !  He  could  not  only  act  and  instruct 
others  how  to  act,  but  he  could  write  ; 
he  could  compose  plays  that  were  better 
liked  and  more  successful  than  even  those 
of  the  learned  dramatists  like  Greene  and 
his  fellows.  Having  become  the  leading 
mind  in  the  companies  with  which  he 
was  connected,  the  actors  instinctively 
gave  way  to  his  superior  power  and 
knowledge,  and  confided  all  to  him. 
No  doubt  he  gave  them  many  a  useful 
hint  in  their  art  ;  no  doubt  his  manner 
was  as  gentle  as  his  genius  was  great 
and  his  knowledge  extensive  ;  no  doubt 
they  liked  his  assistance  in  all  their 
efforts  ;  for  though  some,  like  Greene, 
were  envious  of  him,  we  do  not  find  that 
he  had  a  single  enemy  among  those  that 
knew  him  intimately.  Like  his  own  Bru- 
tus, 

His  life  was  gentle,  and  the  elements 

So  mixed  in  him,  that  Nature  might  stand  up, 

And  say  to  all  the  world,  This  was  a  man  ! 


228  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

Giants  are  always  kind  and  consid- 
erate toward  those  endowed  with  less 
strength  than  themselves ;  and  Shake- 
speare treated  all  his  associates,  even 
those  of  inferior  character  and  capacity, 
with  consideration,  with  tolerance  and 
liberality. 

But  Greene  did  not  like  him.  It  seems 
he  had  no  personal  acquaintance  with  the 
Poet,  else  he  would  have  addressed  him 
in  the  same  familiar  way  in  which  he 
addressed  his  other  acquaintances.  He 
knew  him  only  by  his  growing  reputa- 
tion, and  this  excited  his  envy,  especially 
when  he  found  he  was  not  one  of  the 
university  set.  This  successful  dramatist 
had  not,  like  Greene  and  his  compan- 
ions, studied  at  the  university  ;  he  had 
not  passed  seven  years  within  the  classic 
precincts  of  Cambridge  or  Oxford  ;  he 
had  not  come  to  town  with  his  patri- 
mony in  his  pocket,  and  run  through  it 
in  a  course  of  dissipation  and  profligacy  ; 
he  had  not  outraged  all  decency,  and 
put  himself  in  a  fair  way  of  dying  in  a 
hospital.     No  ;  he  was  quite  a  different 


PORTRAYED  BY  HIMSELF. 


229 


sort  of  man  from  this  ;  he  avoided  brawls 
and  quarrels  ;  wrought  steadily  and  so- 
berly at  his  calling  ;  studied  all  he  could 
lay  hands  on ;  noted  carefully  every- 
thing he  saw ;  cultivated  the  acquain- 
tance of  the  nobler  sort,  and  observed 
the  coarser  kind  of  people  without  be- 
coming one  of  them  ;  became  the  com- 
panion of  gentlemen,  men  of  rank,  talent 
and  character,  wherever  he  found  them  ; 
acquired  wealth  and  reputation  in  his  pro- 
fession ;  relieved  his  father  and  family 
from  debt  ;  bought  the  best  house  in  his 
native  town  ;  and  lived  altogether  in  a 
higher  and  nobler  sphere  than  that  of 
Greene,  Marlowe,  Peele,  and  the  rest. 
Oh,  no,  poor  Greene  ;  he  was  not  one  of 
your  sort  ;  and  you  could  not  possibly 
like  him. 

"  Upstart  crow  ! "  What  a  world  of 
meaning  there  is  in  that  phrase  !  It  con- 
tains a  whole  volume  of  evidence  that 
Shakespeare  was  what  he  has  ever  been 
represented  to  be,  one  who  rapidly 
worked  himself  up  from  a  low  station  to 
one  of  the  highest.      'Tis  true,  O  Greene, 


230 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


he  had  not,  like  you  and  your  confreres, 
taken  his  degree  at  any  learned  univer- 
sity ;  tis  true,  he  had  "  small  Latin  and 
less  Greek " ;  but  he  had  studied  in  a 
far  greater  university  than  either,  that  in 
which  genius  learns  most  :  he  had  stud- 
ied in  the  University  of  the  World,  and 
learned  all  about  human  nature  ;  and  in 
this  university  he  had  taken  his  degree, 
the  highest  degree  yet  conferred  upon 
man  or  woman,  that  of  Master  Mind  in 
Literature.  In  this  university,  his  teach- 
ers were  the  men  and  women  who  lived 
and  toiled,  loved  and  hated,  fought  and 
suffered  by  his  side,  from  every  one  of 
whom  he  had  learned  something ;  and 
with  all  his  learning  and  ability,  O 
Greene,  he  displayed  one  noble  trait 
which,  with  you  and  your  companions, 
was  conspicuous  by  its  absence  :  he  was 
noted  for  modesty,  for  an  humble  opin- 
ion of  his  own  merits,  and  for  kind  appre- 
ciation of  the  merits  of  others. 

There  is  one  other  playwright  of  the 
day,  Thomas  Nash,  a  friend  of  Greene's, 
who  makes  a  similar  sneering  allusion  to 


PORTRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF. 


231 


Shakespeare.  No  doubt  they  had  both, 
many  a  time  and  oft,  in  their  private 
conferences,  expressed  their  contempt  of 
this  "  upstart  crow."  This  time  it  is  not 
by  a  play  on  his  name,  but  by  a  play  on 
the  name  of  one  of  his  dramas ;  and 
the  whole  bitterness  of  the  sarcasm,  like 
Greene's,  lies  in  its  implication  of  the 
Poet's  want  of  an  education.  It  occurs 
in  an  epistle  to  the  Gentlemen  Students 
of  both  Universities,  prefixed  to  Greene's 
Arcadia:  "  It  is  a  common  practice  now- 
adays, among  a  sort  of  shifting  com- 
panions that  run  through  every  art  and 
thrive  by  none,  to  leave  the  trade  of 
Novcrint,  whereto  they  were  born,  and 
busy  themselves  with  the  endeavors  of 
art,  that  could  scarcely  Latinize  their 
neck-verse  if  they  should  have  need  ;  yet 
English  Seneca,  read  by  candle-light, 
yields  many  good  sentences,  as  '  Blood  is 
a  beggar,'  and  so  forth  ;  and  if  you  en- 
treat him  in  a  frosty  morning,  he  will 
afford  you  whole  Hamlets,  I  should  say 
Jiandfuls,  of  tragical  speeches." 

Let  the  reader  remember  that  hamlet 


232  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

means  a  small  village  or  townlet,  and  that 
Noverint  is  the  first  word  in  the  Latin 
deeds  of  those  times,  equivalent  to  our 
modern  phrase,  Know  all  men.  The 
"frosty  morning"  is  evidently  an  allu- 
sion to  the  well-known  scene  that  thus 
begins  : 

Ham.     The  air  bites  shrewdly  ;  it  is  very  cold. 
Hor.     It  is  a  nipping  and  an  eager  air. 

There  are  a  hundred  things  that  point 
to  the  probability  that  the  Poet  had,  be- 
fore he  left  Stratford,  studied  law,  or 
passed  some  years,  at  least,  in  the  office 
of  an  attorney.  As  his  father,  for  in- 
stance, was  always  connected  in  some 
official  capacity  with  the  town's  affairs, 
we  may  readily  conceive  he  would  be 
glad  to  have  his  eldest  son  know  some- 
thing of  legal  transactions,  with  which  he 
had  so  much  to  do,  and  thus  enjoy  the 
benefit  of  his  assistance  in  business  and 
official  affairs. 

Nobody  can  read  Hamlet  without  be- 
ing convinced  that  the  author  must,  at 
some  time,  have    had    some    connection 


PORTRAYED  BY  HIMSELF. 


233 


with  legal  business,  and  it  is  probably  all 
the  more  full  of  law-phrases  and  legal 
allusions  from  the  fact  that  the  author 
had  but  recently  emerged  from  a  law 
office.  Hence  the  reference  to  him  as  a 
N over  int. 

"Blood  is  a  beggar"  may  have  refer- 
ence to  such  sentences  as  these  in 
Hamlet  : 

Your  fat  king,  and  your  lean  beggar,  is  but  variable 

service. 
To  show  you  how  a  king  may  go  a  progress  through 

the  guts  of  a  beggar. 

If  Nash  had  had  the  printed  play 
before  him,  he  would  have  quoted  more 
correctly ;  but  he  evidently  cited  what  he 
thought  he  had  heard  the  actors  utter.  It 
must  not  *be  forgotten  that  the  play  was 
not  printed  at  this  time,  and  that  Nash 
quoted  what  he  thought  he  had  heard. 

Nay,  more  :  this  phrase,  "  could  scarcely 
Latinize  their  neck-verse  if  they  should 
have  need,"  contains  probably  a  deeper 
and  more  deadly  thrust.  Ncck-versc 
means  the  verse  formerly  read  by  a  crim- 
inal, claiming  benefit  of  clergy,  to  save 
himself    from    being   hanged.      Now  this 


234 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


may  have  had  reference  to  Shakespeare's 
deer-stealing  escapade,  and  his  flight 
from  the  magisterial  vengeance  of  Sir 
Thomas  Lucy,  justice  of  the  peace.  It 
implies,  therefore,  that  the  "shifting 
companion  "  was  an  unlettered  criminal, 
a  deer-stealer  and  fugitive  from  justice, 
who  "  could  scarcely  Latinize  his  neck- 
verse  if  he  should  have  need  !"  Shake- 
speare may  have  been  a  Noverint  or 
law-clerk  at  the  time  of  his  flight,  if 
flight  it  was,  and  this  makes  the  allusion 
all  the  more  galling.  If  it  were  on  ac- 
count of  this  passage,  I  should  not  at 
all  be  surprised  at  Shakespeare's  taking 
offence  at  it,  as  he  did  at  Greene's  allu- 
sion, which  seems  to  have  been  attributed 
also  to  Nash. 

In  order  to  understand  this,  let  us 
return  for  a  moment  to  Greene.  It 
was  Henry  Chettle  who  published,  some 
time  after  the  author's  death,  Greene's 
book,  entitled  "A  Groatsworth  of  Wit, 
bought  with  a  Million  of  Repentance;" 
and  it  seems  that  Shakespeare  and  Mar- 
lowe took  offence  at  the  publication, 
and  demanded  an  apology,  which  Chet- 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  235 

tie  made,  in  a  tract  entitled  "  Kind- 
Heart's  Dream,"  published  not  long 
after,  in  these  words  : 

"  About  three  months  since  died  Mr.  Robert 
Greene,  leaving  many  papers  in  sundry  booksellers' 
hands  :  among  others,  his  Groatsworth  of  Wit,  in 
which  a  letter,  written  to  divers  playmakers,  is  offen- 
sively by  one  or  two  of  them  taken  ; — and,  because 
on  the  dead  they  cannot  be  avenged,  they  wilfully 
forge  into  their  conceits  a  living  author,  and  after 
tossing  it  to  and  fro,  no  remedy  but  it  must  light  on 
me.  .  .  .  With  neither  of  them  that  take  offence 
was  I  acquainted,  and  with  one  of  them  I  care  not 
if  I  never  be.  The  other,  whom  at  that  time  I  did 
not  so  much  spare,  as  since  I  wish  I  had,  ....  for 
that  [him]  I  am  as  sorry  as  if  the  original  fault  had 
been  my  fault ;  because  myself  have  seen  his  demeanor 
no  less  civil  than  he  excellent  in  the  quality  he  professes. 
Besides,  divers  of  worship  have  reported  his  upright- 
ness of  DEALING,  WHICH    ARGUES    HIS    HONESTY,  and 

his  facetious  grace  in  writing,  that  approves  his  art. 

I  protest,  it  was  all  Greene's,  not  mine,  nor 

Master  Nash's,  as  some  have  unjustly  affirmed." 

All  this  looks  very  much  like  an  apolo- 
gy for  an  unjust  and  malicious  charge; 
and  it  certainly  seems  complete.  Chettle 
had  meanwhile  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Shakespeare,  and  had  discovered  how  un- 
just and  ungenerous  that  charge  was. 


236  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

Poor  Nash  and  Greene  !  So  you 
thought,  like  some  recent  critics,  that 
the  first  requisite  for  the  production  of 
a  good  play,  is  a  classic  education  !  that 
none  should  "  busy  themselves  with  the 
endeavors  of  art "  who  had  not  received 
a  training  in  the  classic  languages !  O 
Envy  !  how  blind  thou  art  to  genius,  as 
well  as  to  merit !  Love  sure  never  was 
so  blind  to  imperfection  as  thou  art  to 
perfection  !  What  a  chance  for  a  glori- 
ous, grateful  immortality  hast  thou,  Nash, 
lost,  as  well  as  thy  boon  companion 
Greene !  And  instead  of  being  looked 
upon  with  admiration,  nay  with  respect 
approaching  to  veneration,  as  the  per- 
sonal friends  and  admirers  of  Shake- 
speare, ye  are  now  regarded  as  poor,  pit- 
iful, spiteful  deriders  of  the  immortal 
bard  ! 

Mr.  Charles  Armitage  Brown  expresses 
regret  that  Shakespeare  had  not  more 
such  enemies  ;  for  if  he  had,  we  should, 
he  thinks,  have  learned  by  their  attacks 
something  more  of  him  and  his  affairs. 
Perhaps  we  should  ;   but  it  is  pleasant  to 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF. 


237 


know  that  he  was  almost  universally 
loved,  and  that  he  had  few  or  no  enemies. 
Chettle  was  doubtless,  like  Falstaff  with 
the  Prince,  "  bewitched  with  his  com- 
pany," and  very  probably  he  gave  him 
"  medicines  to  make  him  love  him  !  "  * 
Let  me  say  a  word  here  about 
Shakespeare's  home-life.  Mr.  Black,  in 
his  excellent  novel,  "Judith  Shake- 
speare,"    represents     the     Poet     as  ,an 

*  I  am  astonished  that  Mr.  Phillipps  should  think,  from  cer- 
tain references  to  the  play  of  Hamlet  as  early  as  1589,  that 
these  must  concern  an  earlier  Hamlet  than  that  of  Shake- 
speare. This  reference  of  Nash's  is  among  them,  and  the 
others  are  passages  from  the  play,  which  are  thus  stated : 
"  '  There  are  things  called  whips  in  store,'  spoken  by  Hamlet, 
and  a  notice  of  a  trout  with  four  legs  by  one  of  the  other 
characters.  Also  a  very  telling  speech  by  the  ghost  in  the 
two  words,  Hamlet,  revenge!"  Now,  how  easy  it  would  be 
for  any  spectator  or  listener  to  the  play  (for  we  must  not  for 
get  that  Nash  simply  saw  the  play,  not  read  it),  to  confound 
Hamlet's  famous  speech  beginning 

"  For  who  would  bear  the  whips  and  scorns  of  time, " 
with  such  an  expression  as  "  There  are  whips  in  store !  "  And 
as  to  the  "trout  with  four  legs,"  it  probably  comes  from  the 
camel  that  is  turned  into  a  whale  : 

Ham.  Do  you  see  yonder  cloud,  that's  almost  in  shape  of 
a  camel  ? 

Pol.     By  the  mass,  and  'tis  like  a  camel,  indeed. 
Ham.     Methinks,  it  is  like  a  weasel. 
Pol.     It  is  hacked  like  a  weasel. 
Ham.     Or  like  a  whale  ? 


238 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


amiable  and  much-loved  father,  living 
and  working  entirely  for  his  wife  and 
children,  and  coming  home  at  stated  pe- 
riods laden  with  presents  and  messages 
for  his  family  'and  friends.  I  think  he 
is  right.  There  is  not  a  particle  of  evi- 
dence to  show  that  he  was  not  well- 
mated  in  his  union  with  Anne  Hatha- 
way, and  much  to  show  that  he  was. 
» 

Pol.     Very  like  a  whale. 

Ham.     Then  will  I  come  to  my  mother  by  and  by. 

And  does  not  the  ghost  thus  incite  Hamlet  to  revenge  : 

Ghost.  List,  list,  O  list ! 

If  thou  didst  ever  thy  dear  father  love, — 

Ham.     O  God ! 

Ghost.     Revenge  his  foul  and  most  unnatural  murder  ! 

Ham.     Murder? 

Ghost.     Murder  most  foul,  as  in  the  best  it  is; 
But  this,  most  foul,  strange  and  unnatural. 

Ham.     Haste  me  to  know't ;  that  I  with  wings  as  swift 
As  meditation,  or  the  thoughts  of  love, 
May  sweep  to  my  revenge  ! 

The  story  or  history  of  Hamlet  was  familiar  enough  before 
Shakespeare's  play  was  written ;  but  no  other  play  of  that 
name  has  come  down  to  us.  The  first  draft  of  Hamlet 
was  in  existence  long  before  the  perfected  copy,  first  pub- 
lished in  1604,  and  described  in  its  title-page  as  "enlarged 
to  almost  as  much  again  as  it  was."  Shakespeare  was,  in 
1 5S9,  the  twelfth  among  sixteen  shareholders  in  the  Black- 
friars'  Theater,  and  it  is  obvious  that  the  first  draft  of  Hamlet 
had  been  written  and  acted  by  this  time. 


PORTRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF. 


239 


His  wife  and  daughters  "did  earnestly 
desire  to  be  laid  in  the  same  grave 
with  him,"  according  to  the  evidence 
of  the  aged  clerk,  who,  in  1693,  showed 
the  church  at  Stratford  to  Dowdall. 
"And  the  pleasing  memorial  of  filial 
affection,"  says  Halliwell,  "  in  the  chan- 
cel    of    Stratford    church,    a    monument 


There  is  no  doubt,  therefore,  that  this  play,  first  drafted  in 
the  early  years  of  his  connection  with  the  theater,  was  en- 
tirely rewritten  and  remodelled  twenty  years  afterwards,  when 
the  author's  mind  was  in  its  ripest  stage.  Byron  wrote  his 
best  poem,  Ckilde  Harold,  at  twenty-four;  Sheridan  wrote 
The  Rivals  and  the  School  for  Scandal  at  about  the  same  age ; 
and  Shakespeare  was  twenty-five  when  he  wrote  the  first  draft 
oi Hamlet.  To  show  the  reader  how  Shakespeare  worked,  and 
the  difference  between  his  first  and  his  second  draft  of  a  play, 
let  me  quote  a  few  lines  from  Love's  Labor's  Lost,  which  is 
also  supposed  to  be  one  of  his  earliest  productions.  In  that 
play  these  three  lines  occur  in  the  first  draft : 

From  women's  eyes  this  doctrine  I  derive  ; 
They  are  the  ground,  the  books,  the  academes, 
From  whence  doth  spring  the  true  Promethean  fire  : 

which  are  thus  gracefully  expanded  in  the  second  : 
From  women's  eyes  this  doctrine  I  derive; 
They  sparkle  still  the  right  Promethean  fire; 
They  are  the  books,  the  arts,  the  academes, 
That  show,  contain,  and  nourish  all  the  world; 
Else  none  at  all  in  aught  proves  excellent. 

This  may,  therefore,  give  us  a  good  idea  of  Hamlet 
before  it  was  "enlarged  to  almost  as  much  again  as  it  was." 


240 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


raised  by  her  daughter,  tells  us  how 
revered  was  Anne  Shakespeare's  mem- 
ory, and  plainly  teaches  us  to  infer  she 
possessed  'as  much  virtue  as  could  die.' 
Such  a  being,"  he  continues,  "  must  have 
lived  happily  with  the  gentle  Shake- 
speare." Besides,  had  he  not  been 
highly  esteemed,  he  would  not,  in 
that  age,  have  received,  as  an  actor, 
such  uncommonly  respectful  interment. 
This  is  evidence  enough  that  notwith- 
standine  "the  second-best  bed  "  and  all 
that,  he  lived  happily  with  his  wife.  If 
he  did  not  care  for  her,  would  he  have 
invested  his  very  first  earnings  in  buying 
the  best  house  in  the  town  for  her  resi- 
dence ?  We  find  him  making  constant 
journeys  to  and  from  Stratford,  repeat- 
edly buying  property  in  that  town,  and 
finally  retiring  permanently  there  as 
soon  as  he  had  acquired  sufficient  means 
to  live  comfortably.  "  Let  it  be  borne 
in  mind,"  says  Mr.  Halliwell-Phillipps, 
"that  Shakespeare's  occupation  debarred 
him  from  the  possibility  of  his  sustaining 
even    to    an    approach    to    a    continuous 


PORTRAYED  BY  HIMSELF. 


24I 


domestic  life  ;  so  that  when  his  known 
attachment  to  Stratford  is  taken  into  con- 
sideration, it  seems  all  but  certain  that 
his  wife  and  children  were  but  waiting 
there  under  economical  circumstances, 
perhaps  with  his  parents  in  Henley- 
street,  until  he  could  provide  them  with 
a  comfortable  residence  of  their  own. 
Every  particular  that  is  known  indicates 
that  he  admitted  no  disgrace  in  the  irre- 
sponsible persecution  which  occasioned 
his  retreat  to  London,  and  that  he  per- 
sistently entertained  the  wish  to  make 
Stratford  his  and  his  family's  only  per- 
manent home."  We  may  be  sure  his 
heart  was  always  in  Stratford  ;  and  amid 
all  the  varied  scenes  in  which  he  took 
part  in  London,  the  different  characters 
he  played,  and  the  numerous  persons 
with  whom  he  became  associated,  his 
heart  ever  turned  to  that  little  town 
in  Warwickshire 

Where  were  his  young  barbarians  all  at  play  ; 
Where  was  their  Dacian  mother  ; 

while  he,  their  sire,  was  called  hence  to 
16 


242  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE. 

make  an  EnglisJi  holiday  for  the  sover- 
eign, the  dignitaries,  and  the  people  of 
the  day. 

Let  any  man  who  has  wife  and  child, 
and  who  is  obliged  to  go  to  some  dis- 
tant city  to  earn  a  living  ;  let  him  imag- 
ine for  a  moment,  if  he  have  a  human 
heart  and  natural  feelings,  whether  he 
too  would  not  do  all  he  could,  work, 
strive,  hope,  fear,  dream,  and  exert  all 
his  powers,  with  the  view  of  returning  to 
the  loved  ones  with  the  means  of  minis- 
tering to  their  comfort,  and  pleasing 
them  in  all  things. 

I  have  not  a  doubt,  that  from  the  first 

day    in    which   Shakespeare    set  foot  in 

London,  he  looked  forward  to  returning 

to  Stratford  and  living  there  at  ease  with 

his  wife  and  children,  his  parents,  friends 

and  neighbors. 

In  all  his  wanderings  round  this  world  of  care, 
In  all  his  griefs — and  God  had  given  his  share — 
He  still  had  hopes,  his  latest  hours  to  crown,. 
Amid  these  humble  bowers  to  lay  him  down; 
To  husband  out  life's  taper  at  the  close, 
And  keep  the  flame  from  wasting  by  repose  : 
He  still  had  hopes, — for  pride  attends  us  still, — 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


243 


Amid  the  swains  to  show  his  book-learned  skill ; 
Around  his  fire  an  evening  group  to  draw, 
And  tell  of  all  he  felt  and  all  he  saw  ; 
And  as  a  hare,  whom  hounds  and  horns  pursue, 
Pants  to  the  place  from  whence  at  first  she  flew, 
He  still  had  hopes,  his  long  vexations  past, 
Here  to  return. — and  die  at  home  at  last ! 

Such  is  the  language  and  such  are  the 
feelings  of  a  poet.  Indeed,  not  only  his 
wife  and  children,  but  his  father  and 
mother — that  dear  mother,  to  whom  he 
undoubtedly  owed  so  much — were  still 
livine  in  Stratford,  his  father  till  1601 
and  his  mother  as  late  as  1608  ;  and  it 
is  natural  that,  after  all  the  exciting 
scenes  and  tumultuous  experiences  of 
the  London  play-houses,  he  should  turn, 
for  rest  and  refreshment,  to  the  quiet 
scenes  amidst  which  he  was  reared,  and 
to  the  friends  of  his  youth  and  early 
manhood.  Like  the  English  poet  al- 
ready quoted,  with  whom  he  had  much 
in  common,  he  could  exclaim  : 

Where'er  I  roam,  whatever  realms  I  see, 
My  heart,  untravelled,  fondly  turns  to  thee  ; 
Still  to  my  kindred  turns,  with  ceaseless  pain, 
And  drags,  at  each  remove,  a  lengthening  chain. 


244 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE      SOURCES     OF      THE     PLAY THE     POET 

AND    THE    KING. 

THE  First  and  Second  Part  of 
Henry  IV.  being  essentially  one 
play,  only  too  long  for  one  representa- 
tion, I  shall  in  future  speak  of  it  as 
such.  Unlike  some  others  of  his  plays, 
there  is  no  question  as  to  Shakespeare's 
sole  authorship  of  this  play.  It  is  true, 
there  was  before  his  time  an  old  play 
called  Henry  the  Fifth — a  play  which  in- 
cludes the  events  of  his  three  plays,  the 
First  and  the  Second  Part  of  Henry  IV. 
and  Henry  V. — but  Shakespeare  seems 
to  have  been  indebted  to  hardly  a  line 
in  it  for  his  work.  Mr.  Hudson  thus 
speaks  of  the  old  play  :  "  The  Poet  can 
scarce  be  said  to  have  built  upon  it  or 
borrowed  from  it  at  all,  any  further  than 
the     taking    of     the     above     mentioned 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


245 


names.  The  play  is,  indeed,  in  every 
way  a  most  wretched,  worthless  per- 
formance, being  altogether  a  mass  of 
stupid  vulgarity  ;  at  once  vapid  and 
vile  ;  without  the  least  touch  of  wit  in 
the  comic  parts,  or  of  poetry  in  the 
tragic  ;  the  verse  being  such  only  to  the 
eye  ;  Sir  John  Oldcastle  being  a  dull, 
low-minded  profligate,  uninformed  with 
the  slightest  felicity  of  thought  or  hu- 
mor ;  the  Prince  an  irredeemable  com- 
pound of  the  ruffian,  the  blackguard 
and  the  hypocrite,  and  their  companions 
the  fitting  seconds  of  such  principals  :  so 
that,  to  have  drawn  upon  it  for  any  por- 
tion or  element  of  Shakespeare's  Henry 
IV.,  were  much  the  same  as  'extracting 
sunbeams  from  cucumbers.' ' 

The  play,  therefore,  is  all  his  own,  and 
he  made  full  use  of  the  freedom  thus  af- 
forded him  as  to  the  nature  of  the  char- 
acters he  was  to  draw.  I  should  not  be 
surprised  if,  in  the  first  draft  he  made 
of  the  play,  he  set  down  the  real  names 
of  the  persons  he  had  in  mind,  and 
changed  them  afterwards  for  the   stage. 


246  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

I  am  supported  in  this  view  by  the  re- 
markable discoveries  of  Halliwell,  who 
shows  that  many  of  the  names  in  these 
plays  are  taken  from  those  of  people 
living  in  Warwickshire  in  Shakespeare's 
time.  It  looks  as  if  Shakespeare,  after 
writing  the  play  with  real  names,  let  the 
names  of  the  minor  characters  stand, 
and  changed  only  those  of  the  chief 
ones.  Halliwell  finds  in  the  Stratford 
records  the  names  of  Bardolf,  Fluellen, 
Davy  (Jones),  Perkes,  Peto,  Partlett, 
Sly,  Heme,  Home,  Brome,  Page,  and 
Ford  ;  and  he  thinks  it  curious  and 
worthy  of  remark  that  "  he  condescended 
to  employ  in  his  plays  the  appellations 
of  persons  with  whom  he  was  probably 
familiar  in  his  youth."  But  they  were 
the  real  persons  as  well  as  the  real 
names.     Why  shouldn't  they  be  ? 

"  In  whatever  he  has  of  historical  fact," 
says  Mr.  Hudson,  "Shakespeare's  main 
authority  was  Holinshed.  And  in  this 
case  it  is  hard  to  say  whether  the  Poet 
have  showed  a  more  creative  or  a  more 
learned  spirit  ;  there   being    perhaps    no 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


247 


other  work  to  be  named  which,  in  the 
same  compass,  unites  so  great  freedom 
of  invention  with  so  rich  a  fund  of  his- 
torical matter.  Nor  is  it  easy  to  decide 
whether  there  be  more  even  of  historical 
truth  in  what  he  created  or  in  what  he 
borrowed  ;  for,  as  Hallam  justly  observes, 
'  what  he  invented  is  as  truly  English,  as 
truly  historical,  in  the  large  sense  of 
moral  history,  as  what  he  read.' 

It  is  worthy  of  remark,  that  the  whole 
of  the  first  scene  in  Henry  V.,  wherein 
the  conversion  of  the  king,  his  wonderful 
knowledge  and  ability,  are  described  by 
the  Archbishop,  is  omitted  in  the  quarto 
editions  of  the  play,  which  were  the  only 
editions  published  in  the  Poet's  lifetime, 
and  appears  only  in  the  folio  edition  of 
1623.  So  that  it  looks  as  if  this  quiet 
and  significant  description  of  the  charac- 
ter of  his  hero,  his  self-presentation  of 
the  man,  were  considered  too  tame  for 
the  boards,  and  left  only  for  the  closet. 
Or  was  there,  perhaps,  some  other  rea- 
son for  its  omission  ? — It  is  also  to  be 
noted,    that    the    king's    speech     to    the 


248 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


Archbishop,  deprecating  war,  expressing 
great  anxiety  as  to  a  rightful  cause,  and 
showing  a  fearful  apprehension  of  its 
dire  accompaniments,  is  greatly  short- 
ened in  the  quartos. 

Some  reader  may  say,  "  Is  it  not  im- 
probable that  Shakespeare,  an  humble 
man  of  letters,  should  have  selected  a 
prince  as  one  in  whom  to  represent  him- 
self?" If  there  was  any  man  in  Eng- 
land, in  this  Elizabethan  era,  in  whose 
breast  there  beat  an  heroic  ,spirit,  in 
whose  mind  there  lived  the  most  exalt- 
ed thoughts  and  high-hearted  hopes  ;  if 
there  was  any  man  in  that  age  accus- 
tomed to  high  thinking  and  gentle  living, 
a  born  prince  of  men,  it  was  William 
Shakespeare,  the  greatest  of  poets. 
Why  should  not  this  man  with  the  chiv- 
alric  name,  Shake-spear,  a  patriotic  Eng- 
lishman, through  whose  veins  flowed 
some  of  the  best  blood  in  England,  see 
in  England's  heroic  king-  a  man  similar 
to  himself,  loving  home,  peace,  and  social 
life,  fond  of  wit,  humor,  and  song,  yet  ca- 
pable of  heroic   feats  in  war   as  well  as 


FORTH  A  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


249 


of  genial  and  kindly  conduct  in  peace? 
Why  should  he  not  see  in  this  king, 
with  whose  personal  history  he  had  such 
large  sympathy,  a  man  who  had  under- 
gone an  experience  similar  to  his  own, 
and  whose  character  looked  like  his 
own  ?  What  is  a  king  more  than  an- 
other man  except  that  he  is  surrounded 
by  ceremony  ?  Why  should  he  not  im- 
agine himself  in  his  place,  acting  and 
speaking  as  he  had  acted  and  spoken, 
laughing  and  jesting  as  *he  had  laughed 
and  jested  ?  He  obviously  saw  in  this 
Prince's  history  a  rich  field,  not  only  for 
wit  and  humor,  but  for  stately  behavior, 
noble  thinking,  and  high-hearted  action  ; 
a  field  in  which  he  was  personally  ac- 
quainted, and  in  which  he  found  himself 
completely  at  home.  Besides,  kings 
were  not,  in  those  days,  so  far  removed 
from  the  people  as  they  are  now.  They 
often  took  part  in  public  games  and 
sports,  visited  the  haunts  of  the  common 
people,  and  lived  and  loved  like  other 
men.  "  I  am  glad  thou  canst  speak 
no     better     English,"     says     the     king, 


250  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

in  the  wooing  scene  with  the  Princess 
Katharine,  "  for  if  thou  couldst,  thou 
wouldst  find  me  such  a  plain  king  that 
thou  wouldst  think  I  had  sold  my  farm 
to  buy  my  crown." 

Listen  to  what  the  Poet  puts  into  the 
king's  mouth  when  he,  incognito,  meets 
two  or  three  of  his  own  soldiers,  the 
night  before  the  battle  of  Agincourt : 

King,  Though  I  speak  it  to  you,  I  think  the  king 
is  but  a  man,  as  I  aim  The  violet  smells  to  him  as  it 
doth  to  me  ;  the  elements  show  to  him  as  they  do 
to  me  ;  all  his  senses  have  but  human  conditions  : 
his  ceremonies  laid  by,  in  his  nakedness  he  appears 
but  a  man  ;  and  though  his  affections  are  higher 
mounted  than  ours,  yet,  when  they  stoop,  they  stoop 
with  the  same  wing.  Therefore,  when  he  sees 
reason  of  fears,  as  we  do,  his  fears,  out  of  doubt,  be 
of  the  same  relish  as  ours  are. 

Could  Shakespeare  not  stand  for  such 
a  man?  Does  he  not  here  show  that  he 
was  man  first,  king  afterwards  ?  He  was 
not  a  god,  but  a  man  ;  and  being  more 
man  than  most  kings,  being  nearer  the 
people  than  most  princes,  the  Poet  came 
all  the  more  close  to  him,  and  had  all  the 


FOR  TEA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  2  5  I 

more  resemblance  to  him.  This  view  is 
further  confirmed  by  what  follows.  One 
of  these  soldiers,  who  does  not  know  it 
is  the  king,  challenges  him  to  single  com- 
bat after  the  battle  ;  and,  after  exchang- 
ing gloves  as  a  means  of  subsequent  rec- 
ognition, the  king  leaves  him,  and  thus 
breaks  out  in  a  soliloquy  on  kings  and 
ceremony  : 

King.     Upon  the  king !  let  us  our  lives,  our  souls 
Our  debts,  our  careful  wives,  our  children,  and 
Our  sins,  lay  on  the  king  ! — we  must  bear  all. 
O,  hard  condition  !  twin-born  with  greatness, 
Subject  to  the  breath  of  every  fool, 
Whose  sense  no  more  can  feel  but  his  own  wringing! 
What  infinite  heart's  ease  must  kings  neglect, 
That  private  men  enjoy  ! 

And  what  have  kings,  that  privates  have  not  too, 
Save  ceremony,  save  general  ceremony  ? 
And  what  art  thou,  thou  idol  Ceremony? 
What  kind  of  god  art  thou,  that  sufferest  more 
( >f  mortal  griefs  than  do  thy  worshippers  ? 
What  are  thy  rents  ?  what  are  thy  comings-in  ? 
O  Ceremony,  show  me  but  thyworth  ! 
What  is  thy  soul  but  adulation  ? 
Art  thou  aught  else  but  place,  degree  and  form, 
Creating  awe  and  fear  in  other  men  ? 
Wherein  thou  art  less  happy,  being  feared, 
Than  they  in  fearing. 


252  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

What  drink'st  thou  oft,  instead  of  homage  sweet, 

But  poisoned  flattery  ?     O  !  be  sick,  great  greatness, 

And  bid  thy  Ceremony  give  thee  cure. 

Think'st  thou  the  fiery  fever  will  go  out 

With  titles  blown  from  adulation  ? 

Will  it  give  place  to  flexure  and  low  bending  ? 

Canst  thou,   when  thou    command'st   the   beggar's 

knee, 
Command  the  health  of  it  ?  No,  thou  proud  dream, 
That  play'st  so  subtly  with  a  king's  repose. — 
I  am  a  king,  that  find  thee  ;  and  I  know 
'Tis  not  the  balm,  the  scepter,  and  the  ball, 
The  sword,  the  mace,  the  crown  imperial, 
The  inter-tissued  robe  of  gold  and  pearl, 
The  farced  title  running  'fore  the  king, 
The  throne  he  sits  on,  nor  the  tide  of  pomp 
That  beats  upon  the  high  shore  of  this  world — 
No,  not  all  these,  thrice-gorgeous  Ceremony, 
Not  all  these,  laid  in  bed  majestical, 
Can  sleep  so  soundly  as  the  wretched  slave 
Who,  with  a  body  filled,  and  vacant  mind, 
Gets  him  to  rest,  cramm'd  with  distressful  bread ; 
Never  sees  horrid  Night,  the  child  of  hell ; 
But,  like  a  lackey,  from  sun  rise  to  set, 
Sweats  in  the  eye  of  Phoebus,  and  all  night 
Sleeps  in  Elysium  ;  next  day,  after  dawn, 
Doth  rise,  and  help  Hyperion  to  his  horse ; 
And  follows  so  the  ever-running  year 
With  profitable  labor  to  his  grave : 
And,  but  for  ceremony,  such  a  wretch, 
Winding  up  days  with  toil,  and  nights  with  sleep, 


PORTRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF. 


253 


Hath  the  fore-hand  and  vantage  of  a  king. 
The  slave,  a  member  of  the  country's  peace, 
Enjoys  it;  but,  in  gross  brain,  little  wots 
What  watch  the  king  keeps  to  maintain  the  peace, 
Whose  hours  the  peasant  best  advantages. 

Who  will  say  that  the  imagination  that 
conceived  this  could  not  put  himself  in 
the  place  of  a  king-  ?  Who  will  say  that 
this  does  not  look  like  the  Poet  ^acting 
and  thinking  in  the  character  of  a  king? 
Perhaps  no  man  ever  realized  so  fully 
all  the  troubles,  cares,  sorrows,  anxieties 
and  duties  of  a  king  ;  perhaps  no  man 
ever  understood  so  perfectly  the  happi- 
ness as  well  as  the  miseries  of  a  peasant ; 
and  perhaps  no  man  ever  gave  such 
noble  expression  to  them.  How  com- 
pletely he  entered  into  the  thoughts  and 
feelings  of  King  Henry!  how  completely 
he  identified  himself  with  him  and  his 
cares  !  Reading  these  speeches,  one 
would  think  he  must  have  been  a  kino- 
himself  to  speak  in  so  kingly  a  way. 
But  these  are  the  thoughts  of  the  Poet, 
picturing  to  himself  how  he  would  have 
spoken  and  acted  in  the  place  and   con- 


254 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


dition  of  a  king;  or  working  out  a  life 
that  he  imagines  himself  to  have  lived. 
Probably  no  king  ever  addressed  his 
troops  with  more  hearty  sympathy  and 
true  fellow-feeling  than  King  Henry  ad- 
dressed his  at  Agincourt.  He  felt,  what 
few  kings  ever  feel,  that  he  was  one  of 
them,  an  Englishman  among  English- 
men, and  about  to  risk  his  life,  like 
them,  for  his  country's  honor  and  glory  : 

For  forth  he  goes,  and  visits  all  his  host, 
Bids  them  good  morrow  with  a  modest  smile, 
And  calls  them  brothers,  friends,  and  countrymen. 

Did  Napoleon,  or  Bliicher,  or  Gustavus 
Adolphus,  or  Washington,  ever  render 
his  troops  such  tender  homage  ?  Could 
anything  be  nobler  than  his  declaration  : 

For  he,  to-day,  that  sheds  his  blood  with  me, 
Shall  be  my  brother  :  be  he  ne'er  so  vile, 
This  day  shall  gentle  his  condition. 

Such  is  the  noble  and  gentle  spirit  that 
breathes  in  the  speech  he  makes  to  West- 
moreland and  his  army  just  before  the 
battle  ;  which,  as  it  is  perhaps  the  most 
celebrated    of   all   his  speeches,  must  be 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


255 


given  entire,  and  with  which  we  take  our 
leave  of  this  most  interesting,  most  ami- 
able, and  most  glorious  prince,  whose  ca- 
reer and  character  we  have  shown  good 
reasons  for  reofardino;  as  reflecting  those 
of  the  Poet  himself.  In  reading  it,  let 
the  reader  call  to  mind  that  this  is  the 
man  of  whom  it  was  said,  "  List  his  dis- 
course of  war,  and  you  shall  hear  a  fear- 
ful battle  rendered  you  in  music  ; "  and 
remember  that  the  same  character  is  kept 
up  to  the  end. 

West.     O  !  that  we  now  had  here 
{Enter  the  King.} 

But  one  ten  thousand  of  those  men  in  England 
That  do  no  work  to-day  ! 

King.     What's  he  that  wishes  so  ? 
My  cousin  Westmoreland  ? — No,  my  fair  cousin  ; 
If  we  are  marked  to  die,  we  are  enough 
To  do  our  country  loss  ;  and  if  to  live, 
The  fewer  men,  the  greater  share  of  honor. 
God's  will !  I  pray  thee,  wish  not  one  man  more. 
By  Jove  !  I  am  not  covetous  for  gold  ; 
Nor  care  I  who  doth  feed  upon  my  cost ; 
It  yearns  me  not  if  men  my  garments  wear ; 
Such  outward  things  dwell  not  in  my  desires : 
But  if  it  be  a  sin  to  covet  honor, 
I  am  the  most  offending  soul  alive. 


256  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

No,  'faith,  my  coz,  wish  not  a  man  from  England  : 

God's  peace  !  I  would  not  lose  so  great  an  honor, 

As  one  man  more,  methinks,  would  share  from  me, 

For  the  best  hope  I  have.     O  !  do  not  wish  one  more  : 

Rather  proclaim  it,  Westmoreland,  through  my  host, 

That  he  which  hath  no  stomach  to  this  fight, 

Let  him  depart ;  his  passport  shall  be  made, 

And  crowns  for  convoy  put  into  his  purse  : 

We  would  not  die  in  that  man's  company 

That,  fears  his  fellowship  to  die  with  us. 

This  day  is  called — the  feast  of  Crispian  : 

He  that  outlives  this  day,  and  comes  safe  home, 

Will  stand  a-tiptoe  when  this  day  is  named, 

And  rouse  him  at  the  name  of  Crispian. 

He  that  shall  live  this  day,  and  see  old  age, 

Will  yearly  on  the  vigil  feast  his  friends, 

And  say — To-morrow  is  Saint  Crispiarr: 

Then  will  he  strip  his  sleeve,  and  show  his  scars, 

And  say,  These  wounds  I  had  on  Crispin's  day. 

Old  men  forget ;  yet  a-11  shall  be  forgot, 

But  he'll  remember  with  advantages 

What  feats  he  did  that  day.     Then  shall  our  names, 

Familiar  in  their  mouths  as  household  words, — 

Harry  the  king,  Bedford  and  Exeter, 

Warwick  and  Talbot,  Salisbury  and  Gloster, — 

Be  in  their  flowing  cups  freshly  remembered. 

This  story  shall  the  good  man  teach  his  son  ; 

And  Crispin  Crispian  shall  ne'er  go  by, 

From  this  day  to  the  ending  of  the  world, 

But  we  in  it  shall  be  remembered ; 

We  few,  we  happy  few,  we  band  of  brothers : 


PORTRAYED  BY  HIMSELF. 


257 


For  he,  to-day,  that  sheds  his  blood  with  me, 

Shall  be  my  brother  :  be  he  ne'er  so  vile, 

This  day  shall  gentle  his  condition  : 

And  gentlemen  in  England,  now  abed, 

Shall  think  themselves  accursed,  they  were  not  here, 

And  hold  their  manhoods  cheap,  while  any  speaks, 

That  fought  with  us  upon  St.  Crispin's  day. 

I  might  have  presented  a  dozen  other 
points  wherein  the  Prince  resembles 
the  Poet ;  but  it  is  hardly  necessary. 
Let  me,  however,  mention  two  or  three 
more.  Everybody  knows  how  fond 
Shakespeare  is  of  punning.  Great  poet 
as  he  was,  he  obviously  dearly  loved 
a  pun.  There  is  not  one  of  his  plays,  I 
think,  in  which  he  does  not  somewhere 
perpetrate  a  pun  of  some  sort.  Now, 
notice  how  fond  the  Prince  is  of  punning  ! 
He  is  as  good  a  hand  at  it  as  Falstaff 
himself.  He  twists  "nave  of  a  wheel" 
into  "knave  of  a  whale";  plays  upon 
c holer,  collar ;  and  halter ;  speaks  of 
Poins's  "low  countries  making  a  shift  to 
eat  up  his  Holland;  "  and  placing  a  dish 
of  apple-johns  before  Sir  John  Falstaff, 
he    tells   him   these   are    "  five    more   Sir 

>7 


258  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

Johns,"  and  taking  off  his  hat,  says,  "  I 
will  now  take  my  leave  of  these  six  dry, 
round,  old,  withered  knights!" 

Has  the  reader  ever  noticed  how 
closely  the  Prince  observes  men  and 
things?  He  penetrates  every  man  at  a 
glance.  What  prince  ever  before  deigned 
to  notice  the  dress  of  his  tavern-host 
as  this  Prince  has?  "This  leathern- 
jerkin,  crystal-button,  nott-pated,  agate- 
ring,  puke  -  stocking,  caddis  -  garter, 
smooth-tongue,  Spanish  pouch  !  "  What 
prince  ever  before  noticed  so  minutely 
the  personal  attire  and  other  small  mat- 
ters touching  his  companion  as  this 
Prince  has  observed  in  Poins  ?  "  What  a 
disgrace  it  is  to  me  to  remember  thy 
name?"  etc.  What  prince  ever  before 
noticed  what  the  clothes  of  the  new-born 
babies  of  struggling  gentry  were  made 
of  ?  "  God  knows  whether  those  that 
bawl  out  the  ruins  of  thy  linen  shall 
inherit  His  kingdom,"  etc. 

Here  is  another  point,  which  some 
might  make  much  of.  Every  reader 
of  the  plays    knows    with    what    respect 


PORTRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF. 


259 


Shakespeare  treats  Catholic  clergymen 
and  Catholic  doctrines.  The  Church 
suffers  no  injury  at  his  hands.  One 
of  the  first  among  those  who  wrote 
of  him  ends  his  account  by  saying  "  he 
died  a  Papist,"  and  certainly  no  one  can 
affirm  that  his  writings  controvert  the 
assertion.  Whether  he  was  a  Papist  or 
not,  I  cannot  undertake  to  say  ;  certain 
it  is,  he  was  no  contemner  of  the  Church  ; 
and  here  I  find  the  man  who  most  of  all 
resembles    him  represented    as 

full  of  fair  regard, 
And  a  true  lover  of  the  holy  Church  ; 

and  so  well  versed  in  Catholic  doctrine, 
that 

Hear  him  but  reason  in  divinity, 

And,  all-admiring,  with  an  inward  wish 

You  would  desire  the  king  were  made  a  prelate. 

The  reader  may  take  this  for  what  it 
is  worth  ;  but  I  think  it  may  fairly  be 
looked  upon  as  another  link  in  the  won- 
derful chain  which  has  unrolled  itself  in 
my  hands. 

We    know   that    Shakespeare   was   no 


26o  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

friend  of  the  Puritans.  How  could  he 
have  had  any  sympathy  with  a  sect  that 
condemned  all  pleasure  and  play-acting 
as  wicked  and  sinful  ?  When  he  ridi- 
cules the  Puritans  in  the  character  of 
Malvolio,  and  makes  Sir  Toby  Belch 
exclaim,  "  Dost  thou  think,  that  because 
thou  art  virtuous  there  shall  be  no  more 
cakes  and  ale  ? "  he  doubtless  expressed 
his  own  sentiments.  We  must  never  for- 
get that  the  Catholic  Church,  however 
inimical  to  science,  has  ever  been  the 
friend  and  encourager  of  art,  the  patron 
of  painting,  of  poetry,  music,  and  the 
drama,  and  never  the  enemy  of  social 
pleasure;  and  it  is  not  improbable  that 
the  Poet  had  more  sympathy  with  this 
ancient  Church,  which  favored  his  art 
and  chimed  in  with  his  inclinations,  than 
with  the  new  one  that  frowned  on  and 
condemned  both  as  sinful. 

These  are  things  that,  I  imagine,  cannot 
fail  to  strengthen  the  conviction  that  the 
Prince  and  the  Poet  are  one  and  the 
same  person ;  and  I  may  conclude  my 
direct  comparison,  by  remarking,  that  the 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  26 1 

sculptor  who  fashioned  the  statue  of  the 
Poet,  now  in  the  New  York  Central 
Park,  formed  a  likeness  as  near  that  of 
the  Prince,  as  the  likeness  of  the  Prince 
in  the  Poet's  writings  is  remarkably  like 
that  of   the  Poet.* 


*  In  view  of  Prince  Henry's  kindness  toward  the  tapsters, 
his  ready  recognition  of  Falstaff's  witty  page,  his  mercy 
toward  "  the  man  who  railed  against  our  person  yesterday," 
his  horror  of  war  in  all  its  forms,  his  anxiety  for  the  safety 
of  the  llarfleurians,  and  especially  his  gentle  appreciation 
of  every  common  soldier  in  his  army,  I  do  not  see  that  Mr. 
Appleton  Morgan  is  justified  in  his  declaration,  that  Shake- 
speare had  not  a  particle  of  sympathy  with  the  people, 
and  cared  only  for  those  of  noble  blood.  He  portrayed  men 
as  he  saw  them ;  often  brutal  and  inhuman  as  they  were  ;  but 
he    himself  was  never  ungentle   toward  the  lowly. 

In  the  Poet's  time,  all  the  world  thought  more  of  the  "  high- 
born "  than  of  the  "  low-born  ;"  and  it  is  unreasonable  to  ex- 
pect a  poet  of  the  Sixteenth  Century  to  be  imbued  with  the 
advanced  democratic  sentiments  of  the  Nineteenth.  Pretty 
much  the  same  kind  of  sentiment  reigns  at  the  present  day  in 
Germany,  for  even  the  students  there  have  little  respect  for 
anybody  except  those  that  are  students  or  have  been  students ; 
the  rest  are  cattle. 

There  is  much  that  is  interesting  in  Mr.  Morgan's  recent 
book,  "Shakespeare  in  Fact  and  in  Criticism,"  and  his 
edition  of  Shakespeare's  Plays,  published  by  the  New  York 
Shakespeare  Society,  of  which  Mr.  Morgan  is  President,  is  an 
admirable  work  ;  but  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  many  of  his 
conclusions  are  by  no  means  tenable.  He  leans  strongly 
toward  the  Baconians,  and  exhibits  anything  but  a  reverent 
spirit  toward  the  Poet. 


262  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

MR.    DONNELLY    AND    HIS    CRYPTOGRAM.* 

WHEN  somebody  asked  a  Washing- 
ton statistician  to  collect  certain 
statistics  for  him,  the  first  inquiry  he 
made  was,  "  What  do  you  want  proved?  " 
This  is  precisely  the  spirit  in  which  the 
Baconians  have  gone  to  work  ;  they  are 
not  seeking  for  truth,  or  for  that  which 
facts  and  figures  may  show  ;  but,  having 
once  conceived  what  they  consider  a 
plausible  theory,  they  twist  everything 
into  facts  and  figures  to  suit  this  theory. 
This,  it  may  be  said,  is  an  assertion 
that  cuts  both  ways ;  for  it  applies  as 
much  to  my  theory  as  to  theirs.  True  ; 
but  will  any  one  deny  that  mine  is  nat- 

*  This  chapter  was  in  the  hands  of  the  printer  before  I  saw 
Mr.  Donnelly's  book.  I  do  not  find,  however,  anything  ma- 
terial to  change  in  it,  and  I  think  it  worth  standing  as  it  is. 
The  next  chapter  will  deal  directly  with  "The  Great  Crypto- 
gram." 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


*3 


ural,  probable,  and  in  accordance  with 
experience  and  analogy,  while  theirs  is 
the  contrary  ?  Who  has  ever  heard  of 
such  a  thing  as  they  propound?  and 
who  has  not  heard  of  such  a  thing  as 
I  have  propounded?  Had  more  been 
known  of  the  every-day  life  of  the  Poet, 
his  resemblance  to  the  Prince  would  prob- 
ably have  been  noticed  long  ago.  In  the 
spirit  in  which  the  Baconians  have  gone 
to  work,  you  may  prove  anything ;  you 
may  just  as  easily  prove  that  Shakespeare 
wrote  Bacon's  works  as  that  Bacon  wrote 
Shakespeare's  ;  you  may  make  even  fig- 
ures (ciphers)  lie  like  fiends  ;  and  things 
that  have  no  more  connection  with  each 
other  than  fire  and  water  you  may  com- 
bine, and  use  them  as  wonderful  evi- 
dences of  the  truth  of  your  discovery. 
Like  Macbeth's  "juggling    fiends,"  they 

Palter  with  us  in  a  double  sense  ; 

They  keep  the  word  of  promise  to  our  ear, 

And  break  it  to  our  hope. 

Of  all   the  books  which  I   have  read, 
that  which  contains  the  most  ingenious 


264  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

example  of  special  pleading  (let  the  stu- 
dent mark  that  word)  is  "  The  Author- 
ship of  Shakespeare,"  by  Judge  Holmes. 
This  judge's  performance  reminds  me 
forcibly  of  the  astute  lawyer  of  the  olden 
time  who  declared  :  "Give  me  but  three 
lines  of  any  man's  handwriting,  and  I 
shall  send  him  to  the  gallows  ! "  Never 
did  lawyer,  holding  a  brief,  argue  more 
ingeniously  and  skilfully  to  win  his  case  ; 
yet  never  did  lawyer,  holding  such  a 
brief,  fail  more  completely  to  convince 
the  jury  of  the  truth  of  his  plea.  If  his 
book  live  at  all,  it  can  live  only  as  a  rare 
example  of  skill  in  special  pleading,  or  as 
a  specimen  of  what  may  be  done  in  such 
pleading. 

But  this  work  seems  almost  unknown 
compared  with  that  of  another  ad- 
venturer in  this  quixotic  field,  whose 
forthcoming  work,  to  achieve  a  similar 
end,  has  been  more  widely  heralded  and 
more  extensively  advertised  than  perhaps 
any  other  work  of  this  age.  Perhaps  no 
book  of  modern  times  has  called  forth 
so  many  leading  articles,  so  many  news- 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  26$ 

paper  comments,  as  Mr.  Donnelly's  long- 
promised  work  on  Shakespeare. 

In  the  New  York  World  of  August 
28,  1887,  there  appeared  a  thirteen-col- 
umn  letter  by  Professor  Thomas  David- 
son, describing  his  visit  to  Mr.  Ignatius 
Donnelly,  at  his  home  in  Hastings,  Min- 
nesota, and  giving  the  most  minute  ac- 
count of  his  forthcoming  book  on  Shake- 
speare, entitled,  "  The  Great  Crypto- 
gram :  Francis  Bacon's  Cipher  in  the  so- 
called  Shakespeare  Plays." 

Curiously  enough,  most  of  Mr.  Don- 
nelly's strange  discoveries  seem  to  have 
been  made  in  these  two  plays  (the  First 
and  the  Second  Part  of  Henry  IV.),  in 
which  I  have  endeavored  to  show  that 
Shakespeare  portrayed  his  own  character 
under  the  guise  of  that  of  the  Prince  ; 
and  the  interpretations  and  discoveries 
he  finds  in  these  two  plays  are  more 
strange  and  startling  than  anything  to 
be  found  in  the  wildest  romance.  On 
reading  Professor  Davidson's  long  and 
elaborate  letter,  I  felt  profoundly  and  sin- 
cerely convinced  of  one  thing  :  that,  how- 


266  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

ever  ingenious  and  skilful  the  discoverer, 
there  is,  for  any  sane  man — any  man  capa- 
ble of  sound  judgment — no  more  satisfac- 
tion in  these  pretended  discoveries  than 
in  the  ravings  of  a  maniac*  There  is  not, 
to  speak  plainly,  an  iota  of  truth,  or  a 
shadow  of  likelihood,  in  the  whole  busi- 
ness. It  is  one  of  those  remarkable  lit- 
erary delusions,  which,  like  the  forgeries 
of  Ireland,  the  discoveries  of  Macpher- 
son,  or  the  ingenious  deceptions  of  Chat- 
terton,  are  bound  to  disappear  in  time, 
and  serve  at  last  as  a  warning  example, 

To  point  a  moral  or  adorn  a  tale. 

To  make  this  clear  to  the  reader,  I 
shall  take  three  or  four  of  Mr.  Don- 
nelly's propositions  or  discoveries,  as 
stated  by  Professor  Davidson,  and 
show  what  far-fetched  conclusions  he 
draws  from  them  ;  and  by  these  exam- 
ples the  reader  may  judge  of  the  char- 
acter of  the  rest,  and  of  the  character 
of  the  mind  that  advances  them  as 
proofs. 

Mr.    Donnelly   contends   that  because 


FOR TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  267 

Shakespeare  described  the  sea  and  Scot- 
tish scenery  so  well,  he  must  have  been 
to  sea  and  to  Scotland  ;  and  as  we  have 
no  record  of  his  having  been  at  sea  or 
in  Scotland,  and  have  a  record  of  Lord 
Bacon  having  been  at  both,  the  latter 
must  therefore  have  written  the  plays 
containing  these  descriptions  !  Because 
St.  Albans,  Bacon's  birthplace,  is  fre- 
quently mentioned  in  the  plays,  and 
Stratford-on-Avon,  Shakespeare's  birth- 
place, not  once,  Bacon  must  have  been 
the  author  of  the  plays  ! 

Loeic  indeed  !  This  reasoning  reminds 
me  of  Johnson's  sarcasm,  "  He  who 
drives  fat  oxen  must  himself  be  fat  ! " 
And  because  the  author  of  the  plays 
knew  so  much  of  law,  he  must  have  been 
a  lawyer  ;  and  what  lawyer,  forsooth,  but 
Bacon  !  Why,  according  to  this  reason- 
ing, he  must  have  been  a  clergyman,  a 
physician,  a  farmer,  a  soldier,  a  sailor,  a 
statesman, — everything !  for  he  knew  as 
much  of  theology,  medicine,  agriculture, 
war,  the  sea,  the  state,  as  most  clergy- 
men,   physicians,    farmers,    soldiers,    sai- 


2  6S  WILLIAM  SUA  KESPEA  RE 

lors,  statesmen  know  each  of  his  particu- 
lar profession  or  calling.  This  is  what 
makes  the  Archbishop's  description  of 
him  so  marvellously  significant  and  ap- 
plicable :  "  Hear  him  but  reason  in  di- 
vinity," etc.  He  was  many  men  rolled 
into  one. 

It  is  amazing  what  nonsense  these  Ba- 
conians will  write,  and  what  nonsense 
these  editors  will  print.  Perhaps  it  is 
not  less  amazing  to  see  how  many  people 
believe  in  their  nonsense.  I  sometimes 
think,  on  seeing  how  many  clever  men 
accept  this  theory,  that  when  a  man  be- 
comes over-clever,  he  comes  very  near 
being  a  fool. 

"  Great  genius  is  to  madness  near  allied." 

To  procure  such  stuff  as  this,  the  New 
York  Wo7rld  sends  to  Minnesota  a 
special  correspondent,  who  talks  with 
Mr.  Donnelly,  examines  his  work,  and 
fills  two  entire  pages  of  the  paper  with 
his  discoveries,  which  are  endorsed  and 
believed  in  by  Benjamin  Butler  and 
other  equally  able  men. 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


269 


As  to  Shakespeare's  descriptions  of 
Scottish  scenery  and  the  sea,  Mr.  Don- 
nelly's assumption  is  not  only  absurd 
in  itself,  but  it  is  absurd  from  the  fact 
that  there  is  good  ground  for  suppos- 
ing that  the  Poet  did  see  Scotland  and 
the  sea.  We  find,  for  instance,  that  a 
company  of  English  players  were  in 
Aberdeen  in  1601  ;  that  they  were  well 
received  and  well  paid  ;  and  that  thirty- 
two  marks  and  the  freedom  of  the  city 
were  conferred  on  "  Laurence  Fletcher, 
comedian  to  his  majesty,"  who  seems  to 
have  been  the  leader  of  the  company. 
Now  in  May,  1603,  a  patent  was  made 
out,  by  the  king's  order,  authorizing 
0  Laurence  Fletcher,  William  Shake- 
speare, Richard  Burbage,"  and  others, 
to  perform  plays  in  any  part  of  the  king- 
dom. What  is  more  probable  than  that 
Shakespeare  was  with  this  same  Fletch- 
er company  in  Scotland? — As  to  the 
sea,  we  know  that  he  did  travel  around 
with  a  company  of  players  ;  and  to  infer 
that  because  there  is  no  direct  mention 
of  his  having  seen   the  sea,  he  never  did 


270 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


see  it, — that  an  actor  accustomed  to 
travel  in  an  island  "set  in  the  silver  sea," 
and  yet  never  saw  the  sea, — is  an  argu- 
ment worthy  indeed  of  a  Baconian  mind. 
In  the  list  of  the  moneys  received  in 
1592  by  the  Chamberlain  of  Stratford, 
the  following  item  occurs:  "Of  John 
Shackesper  for  Richard  Fletcher,  xxs." 
Here  is  the  father  of  Shakespeare  pay- 
ing to  the  Chamberlain  of  Stratford 
twenty  shillings  for  a  Richard  Fletcher 
of  the  same  town.  Mi  edit  not  this  Rich- 
ard  Fletcher  be  the  father  of  Laurence, 
with  whom  Shakespeare  was  now  associ- 
ated as  an  actor  and  dramatist?  Might 
not  Shakespeare,  while  transmitting 
money  to  his  father  (which  we  know  he 
did),  be  thus  made  the  agent  for  a  simi- 
lar service  to  the  father  or  kinsman  of 
his  friend  and  colleague  ?  We  have 
seen  that  several  of  Shakespeare's  fellow- 
actors  were  Warwickshire  men,  and  pro- 
bably the  personal  friends  of  his  father ; 
and  why  may  not  this  Laurence  Fletcher 
be  one  of  them  ?  These  things  are,  it  is 
true,   mere    speculation  ;    but    they    are 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF. 


27I 


within  the  range  of  probability,  which  is 
more  than  can  be  said  of  Mr.  Donnelly's 
"  proofs." 

We  may  safely  conclude,  from  Mr. 
Donnelly's  absurdly  unreasonable  and 
utterly  baseless  literary  deductions,  that 
his  cipher  deductions  are  no  better  ;  that 
the  stories  he  manufactures  from  the 
numbers  of  the  pages,  the  brackets,  the 
commas,  the  italics,  the  blunders  in  the 
folio  of  1623,  are  as  fanciful  and  untrust- 
worthy as  his  reasonings.  Professor 
Davidson  confesses  he  can  make  noth- 
ing of  the  cipher :  he  tells  us  only 
what  marvellous  stories  Mr.  Donnelly 
makes    out    of    it. 

I  once  heard  of  a  learned  German 
professor  into  whose  hands  was  placed 
a  thick  manuscript  volume,  said  to  have 
been  discovered  amonof  the  North 
American  Indians  by  the  early  explorers  ; 
and  from  the  hieroglyphic  pot-hooks, 
scrawlings,  and  scribbling  which  it 
contained,  the  professor  deciphered  a 
whole  aboriginal  history  of  wonderful 
interest ;- -when,    lo !     it     was     proved, 


272 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


beyond  a  shadow  of  doubt,  that  the 
book  contained  nothing-  but  the  scrib- 
blings  and  scrawlings  of  a  child,  the 
son  of  a  sea-captain,  who,  unable  to 
write,  amused  himself  during  his  father's 
long-  voyages  by  scrawling,  scribbling 
and  ciphering  in  this  book  !  Mr.  Don- 
nelly's interpretations  of  the  blunders  in 
the  folio  of  1623  must  have  been  sug- 
gested by  the  exploit  of  the  German  pro- 
fessor, for  it  is  precisely  of  a  piece  with 
it.  Out  of  the  mistakes  of  the  poor,  un- 
skilful printers  of  the  Elizabethan  era,  he 
manufactures  a  marvellous  story  of  kings, 
queens,  princes  and  poets,  such  as  none 
but  a  man  of  the  most  fertile  imagina- 
tion  could  conceive. 

"  The  work,"  says  Mr.  Donnelly,  "  is 
vaster  than  I  imagined.  I  started  with 
an  expectation  of  finding  one  or  two 
cipher-words  on  each  page  ;  then  I  ad- 
vanced to  a  dozen  or  two ;  then  to  a 
score  or  two :  then  I  thought  the  cipher- 
words  were    one-fifth  of  the  text 

Now  I  find  that  more  than  half  the 
words   are   cipher-words,  and  that  many 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  273 

words  are  made  to  do  double  and  treble 
duty."  Is  not  this  the  very  madness  of 
midsummer  ?  I  have  no  doubt  that  he 
will  finally  end  in  making  the  whole  thing, 
every  word,  a  cipher,  and  go  on  finding 
meanings  within  meanings, 

"  in  endless  mazes  lost," 

until  he  too,  like  Miss  Delia  Bacon  "and 
Mrs.  Ashmead  Windel,  loses  his  wits  in 
the  mad  pursuit.  May  not  a  new  religion, 
a  new  bible,  and  a  new  sect,  called  the 
Cipheronians,  come  out  of  this  business? 
What  a  singular  fate  has  been  that  of 
Shakespeare, — to  have  first  a  number  of 
spurious  plays  foisted  on  him,  and  then 
to  be  denied  the  credit  of  those  he 
actually  wrote  !  Why  may  not  Lord  Ba- 
con, who  "  took  all  knowledge  for  his  pro- 
vince," have  written  the  plays  of  the  other 
dramatists  of  that  age,  as  well  as  those  of 
Shakespeare  ?  Is  there  no  cipher  in  the 
works  of  Jonson,  Marlowe,  Greene, 
Lodee,  and  the  rest  ?  The  Baconians 
seem  to  think  him  capable  of  everything, 

a  perfectly  omnipotent  genius,  who  wrote 
18 


274  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

plays  before  breakfast,  merely  as  a  bit  of 
recreation,  before  going  to  the  serious 
business  of  the  day  !* 

Mr.  Donnelly  speaks  of  the  unaccount- 
able loss  of  Shakespeare's  library,  manu- 
scripts, etc.;  and  concludes,  that  because 
they  cannot  be  found,  he  never  had  a 
library.  Did  not  his  body  lie  one  hun- 
dred years  in  the  grave  before  any  notice 
was  taken  of  him  or  his  works  ?  Was  it 
not  the  Germans,  not  his  own  country- 
men, who  first  unearthed  him  ?  One 
hundred  years  unnoticed !  Mr.  Buckle 
shows  that  Charles  III.  changed  the  face 
of  Spain  during  his  reign, — built  new 
roads,  bridges,  canals,  schools ;  remod- 
elled the  universities,  encouraged  litera- 
ture and  science,  made  everything  new, 
— and  yet,  within  less  than  five  years 
after  his  death,  five  short  years,  every- 
thing was  changed,  all  had  vanished,  and 

*  Now  that  the  "  Great  Cryptogram  "  has  appeared,  I  am 
not  a  little  gratified  to  find  that  my  own  wonderful  foresight 
is  verified  by  the  discoveries  of  Mr.  Donnelly  ;  for  that  gen- 
tleman actually  declares  that  Lord  Bacon  wrote,  not  only  the 
plays  of  Shakespeare,  but  the  dramas  of  Marlowe,  the  Essays 
of  Montaigne,  and  the  "  Anatomy  of  Melancholy  "  of  Burton  I 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  275 

every  trace  of  his  improvements  was  lost 
forever  !  If  five  years  can  effect  such  a 
sweeping  change  in  the  records  of  a  na- 
tion, what  may  not  one  hundred  years 
effect  in  those  of  an  individual !  Al- 
though Charles  had  made  greater  changes 
in  Spain  than  had  been  made  during  the 
preceding  century  and  a  half,  they  were 
all  lost,  in  so  brief  a  period,  because 
the  Spanish  people  took  no  interest  in 
them,  did  not  care  for  them.  So  it  was 
with  Shakespeare  and  his  writings.  The 
people  of  England,  after  his  death,  lost 
all  interest  in  the  drama  ;  they  went  wild 
on  religious  and  political  questions,  and 
Shakespeare  and  the  drama  were  utterly 
neglected ;  nay,  suppressed ;  for  the 
Commonwealth  well-nigh  annihilated  the 
drama.  It  is  simply  by  a  miracle  of 
good  luck,  or  rather  of  Providential  care, 
that  we  have  even  his  plays,  let  alone  his 
books  and  manuscripts.  Had  his  survi- 
ving friends  and  fellow-actors,  Heming 
and  Condell,  not  given  us  the  folio  edi- 
tion of  1623,  we  should  have  lost  most 
of  his  plays  as  well  as  his  books. 


2j6  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

This  is  history  ;  this  is  the  language  of 
soberness  and  truth ;  not  the  fanciful 
imaginings  of  a  cipher-genius.  "  It  must 
be  borne  in  mind,"  says  Mr.  Halliwell- 
Phillipps,  "  that  actors  then  occupied  an 
inferior  position  in  society,  and  that  even 
the  vocation  of  a  dramatic  writer  was 
considered  scarcely  respectable.  The  in- 
telligent appreciation  of  genius  by  indi- 
viduals was  not  considered  sufficient  to 
neutralize  in  these  matters  the  effect  of 
public  opinion  and  the  animosity  of  the 
religious  world ;  all  circumstances  thus 
uniting  to  banish  general  interest  in  the 
history  of  persons  connected  in  any  way 
with  the  stage.  This  biographical  indif- 
ference continued  for  many  years ;  and 
long  before  the  season  arrived  for  a  real 
curiosity  to  be  taken  in  the  subject,  the 
records  from  which  alone  a  satisfactory 
memoir  could  have  been  constructed  had 
disappeared.  At  the  time  of  Shake- 
speare's decease,  non-political  correspond- 
ence was  rarely  preserved,  elaborate  dia- 
ries were  not  the  fashion,  and  no  one, 
except  in  semi-apocryphal  collections   of 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  2  ;  J 

jests,  thought  it  worth  while  to  record 
many  of  the  sayings  and  doings,  or  to 
delineate  at  any  length  the  characters,  of 
actors  and  dramatists  ;  so  that  it  is  gen- 
erally by  the  merest  accident  that  partic- 
ulars of  interest  respecting  them  have 
been  discovered." 

To  show  how  time  sweeps  away  ordi- 
nary records,  it  is  only  necessary  to  no- 
tice the  remarkable  fact,  that  few  men 
can  tell  anything  of  their  ancestors  far- 
ther back  than  their  grandfathers.  Stop 
one  hundred  men  on  Broadway,  and  ask 
each  one  who  was  his  great-grandfather  : 
and  I  will  guarantee  that  ninety  of  them 
will  be  unable  to  answer.  Look  into  the 
lives  of  great  men,  and  you  will  find  that 
few  of  them  can  go  farther  back  than 
their  Grandfathers.  Time  is  almost  as 
swift  and  sure  in  destroying  private 
records  as  a  prairie-fire  in  destroying  the 
crops  of  the  farmer. 


278 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE        CIPHER ITS        FALLACY         PLAINLY 

SHOWN. 

ON  looking  at  this  stupendous  monu- 
ment of  labor,  of  ingenious  and  skil- 
ful labor,  "  The  Great  Cryptogram  "  by 
Mr.  Ignatius  Donnelly,  my  first  feeling 
is  one  of  profound  regret,  that  so  able 
and  well-informed  a  man  should  have 
wasted  his  great  powers  and  spent  such  an 
herculean  amount  of  energy  on  so  fruit- 
less a  task.  Mr.  Donnelly  is  an  extraordi- 
nary man  ;  a  man  of  uncommon  resources 
of  mind  and  tremendous  energy  of  char- 
acter. A  slight  acquaintance  with  his 
work  will  show  the  reader  that,  combined 
with  immense  knowledge,  he  has  large 
imagination,  great  discrimination,  fine 
powers  of  expression,  indefatigable  indus- 
try, inexhaustible  faith  and  zeal,  and 
boundless  enthusiasm.  A  man  of  such  a 
character  may  easily  make  something  out 


FOR  TRA  YED   B  Y  HIMSELF. 


279 


of  nothing.  No  task  is  too  great  for 
him ;  nothing  is  impossible  for  him ;  and 
the  task  he  has  undertaken,  though  ac- 
companied by  insurmountable  difficulties, 
seems  in  no  wise  to  have  daunted  him. 

Unhappily,  his  zeal  and  enthusiasm 
have  overbalanced  and  clouded  his  other 
powers  :  a  sound  judgment  has  been  per- 
verted by  a  vivid  imagination,  and  a 
strong  understanding  has  given  way  to  a 
determination  to  succeed  in  a  fond  and 
foolish  pursuit.  He  has  searched  so  per- 
sistently, so  intently,  and  so  unrelentingly 
for  an  imaginary  treasure,  that  he  has 
at  last  forced  himself  into  the  belief  that 
he  has  found  it;  and  what  he  has  found, 
though  it  may  satisfy  himself,  cannot  pos- 
sibly satisfy  any  human  being  still  possess- 
ed with  the  ordinary  share  of  common 
sense.  In  short,  his  zeal  and  enthusiasm 
have  carried  him  away  and  made  him  the 
victim  of  a  miserable  delusion. 

Mr.  Donnelly  has  discovered  (we  will 
do  him  the  credit  of  thinking  that  he 
believes  it  himself)  not  only  one  cipher, 
but  several,  in  Shakespeare's  Plays.      He 


2 So  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE. 

says  himself,  "  There  are  many  ciphers 
in  the  plays ; "  and  he  may  yet  publish 
several  books,  showing  a  dozen  or  more 
ciphers  in  Shakespeare's  plays.  To  look 
at  his  markings,  notes,  figures,  signs, 
crosses,  fractions,  words,  in  different-col- 
ored inks  and  different-sized  characters, 
in  the  folio  of  1623,  is  enough  to  make 
one's  brain  reel.  His  work  is  a  pyramid 
of  industry  and  perseverance ;  none  but 
an  enthusiast,  none  but  a  man  of  extra- 
ordinary energy  and  endurance  could 
produce  such  an  unparalleled  piece  of 
work.  In  actual  bulk  and  quantity  of 
matter,  his  book  would  make  at  least  a 
score  of  volumes  like  this.  I  have  not  a 
shadow  of  doubt — in  fact  the  reader  will 
soon  be  convinced  of  it  himself — that 
the  same  industry,  ingenuity,  and  perse- 
verance, applied  to  the  writings  of  any 
poet,  would  be  equally  productive  of 
ciphers :  Mr.  Donnelly  could  make  a 
cipher  out  of  any  book.  I  wonder  that 
he  has  not  tried  his  hand  on  Homer  in 
the  same  way.  What  a  field  he  would 
have  for  the  exercise  of  his  fertile  imag- 


FOR  TKA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  2  8 1 

ination  in  the  pages  of  the  much-criticised 
Iliad  !  If  he  could  get  hold  of  an  origi- 
nal parchment  copy  of  that  poem,  he 
would  certainly  make  it  out  as  the  work 
of  Noah  or  of  Jupiter  himself  ! 

In  order  that  the  reader  may  see  for 
himself  how  Mr.  Donnelly  has  gone 
to  work,  in  searching  for  a  cipher  by 
Lord  Bacon  in  Shakespeare's  plays,  I 
shall  give  him  a  fair  sample  of  his  book, 
a  sample  which  will  show  not  only  his 
methods,  but  the  spirit  in  which  he  has 
worked.  I  quote  the  following  from 
"The  Great  Cryptogram,"  Book  II.,  p. 
1 8,  omitting  nothing  but  his  foot-notes 
referring  to  the  names,  acts,  and  scenes 
of  the  plays  quoted  : 

But  it  was  in  the  first  part  of  King  Henry  IV. 
that  I  found  the  most  startling  proofs  of  the  exist- 
ence of  a  cipher. 

In  act  ii,  scene  i,  we  have  a  stable  scene,  with 
the  two  ""carriers"  and  an  hostler;  it  is  night,  or 
rather  early  morning — two  o'clock — it  is  the  morning 
of  the  Gadshill  robbery ;  the  carriers  are  feeding 
their  horses  and  getting  ready  for  the  day's  journey  ; 
and  in  the  dialogue  they  speak  as  follows  : 


282  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

i  Car.  What,  Ostler,  come  away  and  be  hanged ;  come 
away. 

2  Car.  I  have  a  gammon  of  Bacon,  and  two  razes  of  Gin- 
ger, to  be  delivered  as  far  as  Charing-crosse. 

This  occurs  on  page  53  of  the  Histories  ;  we  have 
seen  that  the  other  word  Bacon  occurs  on  page  53 
of  the  Comedies.  As  these  are  the  only  instances 
in  which  the  word  Bacon  occurs  alone  and  not 
hyphenated  with  any  other  word,  in  all  these  volu- 
minous plays,  occupying  nearly  a  thousand  pages, 
is  it  not  remarkable  that  both  should  be  found 
on  the  same  numbered  page  ? , 

We  have  the  original  of  this  robbery  scene  in 
another  old  play,  entitled  The  Famous  Victories  of 
Henry  the  Fifth.  In  each  case  the  men  robbed  were 
bearing  money  to  the  King's  treasury ;  and  in  each 
case  they  called  upon  the  Prince  after  the  robbery 
for  restitution.  In  the  old  play,  Dericke,  the  car- 
rier, who  is  robbed  by  the  Prince's  man,  says : 

Oh,  maisters,  stay  there  ;  nay,  let's  never  belie  the  man  ; 
for  he  hath  not  beaten  and  wounded  me  also,  but  he  hath 
beaten  and  wounded  my  packe,  and  hath  taken  the  great  rase 
of  Ginger  that  bouncing  Bess  .  .  .  should  have  had. 

But  there  is  no  bacon  in  his  pack.  That  was 
added,  as  in  the  other  instances,  when  the  play  was 
re-written,  doubled  in  size,  and  the  cipher  inserted. 

I  said  that  Bacon,  in  making  any  claim  to  the 
authorship  of  the  plays,  would  probably  seek  to 
identify  himself  (as  centuries  might  elapse  before 
the  discovery  of  the  cipher)  by  giving  the  name  of 
his    father,   the    celebrated     Sir    Nicholas,    Queen 


PORTRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF. 


283 


Elizabeth's  Lord   Keeper ;    and  here,  in  the  same 
scene,  on  page  53,  appears  his  father's  name. 

The  chamberlain  enters  the  stable  ;  also  Gadshill, 
"the  setter"  of  the  thieves,  as  Poins  calls  him: 
that  is,  the  one  who  points  the  game  for  them. 
The  chamberlain  says  : 

Cham.  Good-morning  Master  Gads-Hill;  it  holds  current 
that  T  told  you  yesternight.  There's  Franklin  in  the  wilde  of 
Kent  hath  brought  three  hundred  marks  with  him  in  gold.  I 
heard  him  tell  it  to  one  of  his  company  last  night  at  supper; 
a  kinde  of  auditor,  one  that  hath  abundance  of  charge,  too 
(God  knows  what)  ;  they  are  up  already  and  call  for  egges 
and  butter.     They  will  away  presently. 

Gad.  Sirra,  if  they  meete  not  with  S.  Nicholas  Clarks,  He 
give  thee  this  necke. 

Cham.  No;  He  none  of  it.  I  prithee,  keep  that  for  the 
hangman,  for  I  know  thou  worship' st  S.  Nicholas  as  truly  as  a 
man  of  falsehood  may. 

First  I  would  observe  the  unnecessary  presence 
of  the  word  Kent.  Why  was  the  county  from  which 
the  man  came  mentioned?  Because  Kent  was  the 
birthplace  of  Sir  Nicholas  Bacon,  and  in  any  cipher 
narrative  it  was  very  natural  to  speak  of  Sir  Nicho- 
las Bacon  born  in  Kent. 

But  observe  how  Saint  Nicholas  is  dragged  in. 
He  is  represented  as  the  patron  saint  of  thieves, 
when  in  fact  he  was  nothing  of  the  kind.  Saint 
Anthony,  I  believe,  is  entitled  to  that  honor.  But, 
ingenious  as  Bacon  was,  he  could  see  no  other  way 
to  get  Nicholas  into  that  stable  scene,  and  into  the 
talk  of  thieves  and  carriers,  except  by  such  an  allu- 
sion as  the  foregoing ;  and  he  made  it  even  at  the 


284  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

violation  of  the  saintly  attributes.  Saint  Nicholas, 
Bishop  of  Myra,  was  born  in  Patara,  Lycia,  and 
died  about  340.  "  He  is  invoked  as  the  patron  of 
sailors,  merchants,  travellers  and  captives,  and  the 
guardian  of  school-boys,  girls  and  children."  He  is 
the  original  of  the  Santa-Klaus  of  the  nursery. 
And  in  the  same  scene  on  the  same  column  we 

have: 

If  I  hang,  old  Sir  John  hangs  with  mee. 

This  gives  us  the  knightly  prefix  to  Nicholas 
Bacon's  name.  And  it  appeared  to  me  there  was 
something  here  about  the  Exchequer  of  the  Com- 
monwealth of  England ;  for  all  these  words  drop 
out  in  the  same  connection.  Only  a  few  lines 
below  the  word  Nicholas,  the  word  Commonwealth  is 
twice  dragged  in,  in  most  absurd  fashion. 

Describing  the  thieves,  Gadshill  says : 

And  drink  sooner  than  pray ;  and  yet  I  lie,  for  they  pray 
continually  to  their  saint  the  Commonwealth  ;  or  rather  not 
pray  to  her  but  prey  on  her,  for  they  ride  up  and  down  on  her, 
and  make  her  their  Bootes. 

Cham.  What,  the  Commonwealth  their  Bootes  ?  Will  she 
hold  out  water  in — a  foul  way  ? 

The  complicated  exigencies  of  the  cipher  com- 
pelled Bacon  to  talk  nonsense.  Who  ever  heard  of 
a  Saint  Commonwealth  ?  And  who  ever  heard  of 
converting  a  saint  into  boots  to  keep  out  water  ? 

And  on  the  next  page  we  have  the  word  exchequer 
twice  repeated  : 

Fat.  I  will  not  bear  my  own  flesh  so  far  afoot  again  for  all 
the  coin  in  thy  father's  exchequer. 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


285 


Again 


Bardolph.  Case  ye,  case  ye ;  on  with  your  vizards,  there's 
money  of  the  King  coming  down  the  hill,  'tis  going  to  the 
King's  exchequer. 

Fal.     You  lie,  you  rogue,  'tis  going  to  the  King's  tavern. 

And  a  little  further  on  we  have  : 

When  I  am  King  of  England. 

And  as  the  Court  of  Exchequer  was  formerly  a  court 
of  equity,  in  the  same  scene  we  find  that  word  : 

Fal.  If  the  Prince  and  Poynes  be  not  two  arrant  cowards 
there's  no  equity  stirring. 

Here  again  the  language  is  forced ;  this  is  not  a 
natural  expression. 

All  this  is  in  the  second  act  of  the  play,  and  in 
the  first  act  we  have  : 

As  well  as  waiting  in  the  court. 
O,  rare  I'll  be  a  hx2.\t  judge. 
For  obtaining  of  suits. 

And  then  we  have  master  of  the  great  seal. 

Good-morrow,  Master  Gads-hill. 

We'll  but  seal,  and  then  to  horse 

For  they  have  great  charge. 

All  this  is  singular  :  Sir — Nicholas — Bacon — of 
Kent — Master  of  the — great — seal  of  the  Common- 
wealth of  England. 

And  again  :  Judge  of  the  court  of  the  exchequer — 
equity. 


286  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

It  is  true  that  this  might  all  be  the  result  of  acci- 
dent.    But  I  go  a  step  further. 

On  the  next  page  54,  and  in  the  next  scene,  I 
found  the  following  extraordinary  sentences  : 

Enter  Travellers. 

Trav.  Come  Neighbor;  the  boy  shall  leade  our  Horses 
dovvne  the  hill :  We'll  walk  a-foot  awhile,  and  ease  our 
legges. 

Thieves.     Stay. 

Trav.     Jesu  bless  us. 

Falstaff.  Strike  :  down  with  them,  cut  the  villains  throats; 
a  whorson  Caterpillars ;  Baeon-ied  knaves,  they  hate  us 
youth  ;  downe  with  them,  fleece  them. 

Trav.     O,  we  are  undone,  both  we  and  ours  forever. 

Falstaff.  Hang  ye,  gorbellied  knaves,  are  you  undone  ?  No 
ye  fat  Chuffes,  I  would  your  store  were  here.  On  Bacons,  on, 
What,  ye  knaves?  Young  men  must  live,  you  are  Grand 
Jurers,  are  ye  ?     Wee'll  jure  ye  i'faith. 

Heere  they  rob  them  and  binde  them. 

Let  us  examine  this. 

The  word  Bacon  is  an  unusual  word  in  literary 
work.  It  describes,  in  its  commonly  accepted 
sense,  an  humble  article  of  food.  It  occurs  but 
four  times  in  all  these  plays  of  Shakespeare,  viz.: 

1.  In  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  in  the  instance 
I  have  given,  page  53  of  the  Comedies,  "  Hang-hog 
is  the  Latin  for  Bacon." 

2.  In  the  \st  Henry  IV.,  act  ii,  scene  1,  "a  gam- 
mon of  Bacon,"  page  53  of  the  Histories. 

3.  In  these  two  instances  last  above  given,  on 
page  54  of  the  Histories. 

So  that,  out  of  four  instances  in  the  plays  in  which 


POX  TXA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  287 

it  is  used,  this  significant  word  is  employed  three 
times  on  two  successive  pages  of  the  same  play  in 
the  same  act! 

I  undertake  to  say  that  the  reader  cannot  find  in 
any  work  of  prose  or  poetry,  not  a  biography  of 
Bacon,  in  that  age,  or  any  subsequent  age,  where  no 
reference  was  intended  to  be  made  to  the  man 
Bacon,  another  such  collocation  of  Nicholas — Bacon 
— Bacon-fed — Bacons.  I  challenge  the  sceptical  to 
undertake  the  task. 

And  why  does  Falstaff  stop  in  the  full  tide  of  rob- 
bery to  particularize  the  kind  of  food  on  which  his 
victims  feed  ?  Who  ever  heard,  in  all  the  annals  of 
Newgate,  of  such  superfluous  and  absurd  abuse  ? 
Robbery  is  a  work  for  hands,  not  tongues.  And  it 
is  out  of  all  nature  that  Falstaff,  committing  a  crime 
the  penalty  of  which  was  death,  should  stop  to  think 
of  bacon,  or  greens,  or  beefsteak,  or  anything  else 
of  the  kind. 

Is  it  intended  as  a  term  of  reproach?  No;  the 
bacon-fed  man  in  that  day  was  the  well-fed  man.  I 
quote  again  from  the  famous  Victories  of  Henry  V. 

John,  the  cobbler,  and  Dericke,  the  carrier,  con- 
verse ;  Dericke  proposes  to  go  and  live  with  the 
cobbler.     He  says  : 

I  am  none  of  these  great  slouching  fellows  that  devoure 
these  great  pieces  of  beefc  andbrewes  ;  alas,  a  trifle  serves  me, 
a  woodcocke,  a  chicken,  or  a  capons  legge,  or  any  such  little 
thing  serves  me. 

fokn.  A  capon  I  Why,  man,  T  cannot  get  a  capon  once  a 
excepl  it  be  at  Christmas,  at  some  other  man's  house, 
for  we  cobblers  be  glad  of  a  dish  of  rootcs. 


288  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

Falstaff  might  fling  a  term  of  reproach  at  his  vic- 
tims, but  scarcely  a  term  of  compliment. 

But  Falstaff  calls  the  travellers  Bacons /  Think 
of  it.  If  he  had  called  them  hogs,  I  could  under- 
stand it,  but  to  call  them  by  the  name  of  a  piece  of 
smoked  meat !  I  can  imagine  a  man  calling 
another  a  bull,  an  ox,  a  beef  ;  but  never  a  tender- 
loin. Moreover,  why  should  Falstaff  say,  "  On, 
Bacons,  on  ! "  unless  he  was  chasing  the  travellers 
away  ?  But  he  was  trying  to  detain  them,  to  hold 
on  to  them,  for  the  stage  direction  says :  "  Here 
they  rob  them  and  binde  them.'" 

When  I  read  that  phrase,  "  On,  Bacons,  on  ! "  I 
said  to  myself :  Beyond  question  there  is  a  cipher 
in  this  play. 

Then  Mr.  Donnelly  goes  on  to  show 
that  because  the  tapster's  name,  Francis, 
occurs  twenty  times,  Saint  Albans, 
Bacon's  birthplace,  several  times,  Grays 
Inn,  where  Bacon  studied,  once  or  twice, 
all  these  are  sure  indications  that  Bacon 
put  them  there  as  a  cipher  to  show  "the 
next  ages  "  that  he  wrote  the  plays  !  The 
repeating  of  the  name  Francis  so  often 
was  done  expressly  "  to  draw  the  atten- 
tion of  the  sleepy-eyed  world  to  the  fact 
that  there  is  something-  more  here  than 
appears  on  the  surface  !"     Mr.  Donnelly 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  289 

takes  the  word  white  and  the  word  horse, 
which  are  five  pages  apart,  and  because 
each  is  the  sixty-ninth  word  in  the  page, 
and  the  mystical  number  sixty-nine  is 
the  same  upside  down,  he  makes  wonders 
out  of  it  !  One  would  think  he  had  been 
consulting  the  numbers  of  the  lottery- 
players,  or  the  cabalistic  terms  of  the 
spiritualist  oracles,  to  have  his  head  filled 
with  such  tomfoolery  as  this. 

Wherever  the  word  shake  or  spear  oc- 
curs, in  any  of  the  plays,  no  matter  in 
what  connection,  he  draws  marvellous 
conclusions  from  it.  He  quotes  these 
lines,  for  instance,  from  Henry  VI : 

Who  loves  the  king,  and  will  embrace  his  pardon, 
Fling  up  his  cap,  and  say — God  bless  his  majesty  ! 
Who  hateth  him,  and  honors  not  his  father 
Henry  the  Fifth,  that  made  all  France  to  quake, 
Shake  he  his  weapon  at  us,  and  pass  by  : 

Then  jumps  to  Othello,  in  which  Iago  says: 

I  fear  the  trust  Othello  puts  in  him, 
At  some  odd  time  of  his  infirmity, 
Will  shake  this  island. 

Then    he    passes    to   Henry    IV.,  where 

Warwick  says  : 


2q0  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE     ' 

Peace,  cousin,  say  no  more. 
And  now  I  will  unclasp  a  secret  book, 
And  to  your  quick-conceiving  discontents 
I'll  read  you  matter  deep  and  dangerous, 
As  full  of  peril  and  adventurous  spirit 
As  to  o'erwalk  a  current,  roaring  loud, 
On  the  unsteadfast  footing  of  a  spear. 

Of  these  lines  Mr.  Donnelly  makes  much. 
"  As  a  spear,"  says  he,  "  did  not  usually 
exceed  ten  feet  in  length,  we  are  forced 
to  ask  ourselves,  what  kind  of  a  stream 
could  that  have  been  which  it  was  used 
to  bridge?  One  could  more  easily  leap 
it  by  the  aid  of  the  spear  than  cross  on 
such  a  frail  and  bending  structure." 
When  one  is  determined  to  find  a  cipher, 
how  blind  he  becomes  to  poetic  beauties  ! 
Then  he  quotes  Bardolph's  account  of 
the  way  in  which  Falstaff  made  his  com- 
panions "  tickle  their  noses  with  spear- 
grass,  to  make  them  bleed  ; "  and  asks 
triumphantly,  "Would  not  blades  of  grass 
have  done  as  well,  without  particularizing 
the  species  ?  "  No,  blades  of  grass  would 
not  have  done  as  well ;  for  this  is  one  of 
the  peculiarities  of  a  work  of  genius,  that 


POR TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  2Q I 

the  author  makes  his  work  more  real  by 
particularizing. 

Then  he  turns  again  to  Henry  VI., 
where  the  Duke  of  York  says : 

That  gold  must  round  engirt  these  brows  of  mine  ; 
Whose  smile  and  power,  like  to  Achilles'  spear, 
Is  able  with  the  change  to  kill  and  cure  : 

and  then  remarks  :  "  This  comparison  of 
a  man  to  a  spear,  and  a  medicinal  spear 
at  that,  is  not  natural."  If  anything  is 
not  natural,  it  is  surely  Mr.  Donnelly's 
interpretations.  He  might  as  well  quote 
the  following  from  Ecclesiasticus  to 
prove  that  Shakespeare  or  Bacon  wrote 
the  Bible  : 

"Thy  alms  shall  fight  for  thee  against  thine 
enemies  better  than  a  mighty  shield  and  strong 
spear."     Ch.  xxix.,  v.  13. 

Does  the  reader  want  any  more  of  this 
stuff?  Is  there,  in  literature,  anything  so 
absurd  as  work  of  this  kind  ?  But  this  is 
not  all.  I  must  emote  a  little  more,  to 
show  the  extraordinary  lengths  to  which 
he  can  go  : 

In  a  great  many  instances  the  word  Bacon  seems 


2Q2  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

to  have  been  made  by  combining  bay  with  con,  or 
can,  which  in  that  day  was  pronounced  with  the 
broad  accent  like  con,  as  it  is  even  yet  in  England 
and  in  parts  of  America. 

In  such  a  desperate  bay  of  death.— Richard  III. 
The  other  day  a  bay  courser.—  Timon  of  Athens. 
To  ride  on  a  bay  trotting  horse.— King  Lear. 
I'd  give  bay  curtail.— Alls  Well  That  End's  Well. 

He  seems  to  have  been  fond  of  the  bay  color  in  a 
horse. 

Why,  it  hath  bay  windows.— Twelfth  Night. 
The  bay  trees  are  all  withered. — Richard  II. 
Brutus,  bay  not  me.— Julius  Ccesar. 

And  then  we  have  : 

Ba,  pueritia,  with  horn  added.     Ba.— Love's  Labor's  Lost. 
Proof  will  make  me  cry  ba. —  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona. 

And  when  we  come  to  the  con,  it  is  still  more  forced  : 

Thy  horse  will  sooner  con  an  oration. —  Troilus  and  Cressida 

The  cipher  pressed  him  hard  when  he  wrote  such 
a  sentence  as  this.  It  is  not  the  horse  will  deliver  an 
oration,  or  the  horse  will  study  an  oration ;  but  the 
horse  will  con  it. 

And  again  : 

But  I  con  him  no  thanks  for  it.— AlPs  Well  That  Ends  Well. 
Yes,  thanks,  I  must  you  con. —  Timon  of  Athens. 

I  should  say  the  cipher  did  "press  him 
hard"  to  induce  him  to  write  such  non- 
sense. Could  anything  under  heaven 
be  more  far-fetched  ? 


PORTRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF. 


293 


But  in  order  to  expose  the  fallacy  of 
his  arithmetical  cipher,  I  shall  make  one 
more  quotation  from  his  book,  and  then 
I  am  done  with  him  forever: 

Being  satisfied  that  there  was  a  cipher  in  the 
Plays,  and  that  it  probably  had  some  connection 
with  the  paging  of  the  Folio,  I  turned  to  page  53  of 
the  Histories,  where  the  line  occurs  : 

I  have  a  gammon  of  Bacon  and  two  razes  of  ginger. 

I  commenced  and  counted  from  the  top  of  the 
column  downward,  word  by  word,  counting  only  the 
spoken  words,  until  I  reached  the  word  Bacon,  and 
I  found  it  was  the  371st  word. 

I  then  divided  that  number,  371,  by  fifty-three, 
the  number  of  the  page,  and  the  quotient  was  seven  ! 
That  is,  the  number  of  the  page  multiplied  by  seven 
produces  the  number  of  the  word  Bacon.     Thus  : 

53X7=37* 

This  I  regarded  as  extraordinary.  There  are 
938  words  on  the  page,  and  there  was,  therefore, 
only  one  chance  out  of  938  that  any  particular  word 
on  the  page  would  match  the  number  of  the  page. 

But  where  did  that  seven  come  from  which,  multiply- 
ing 53,  produced  i)ii=Bacon?  I  found  there  were 
seven  italic  words  on  the  first  column  of  page  53,  to- 
wit  :  (1)  Mortimer  (2),  Glendower  (3),  Mortimer  (4), 
Douglas  (5),  Charles  (6),   Wattle  (7),  Robin. 


2Q4 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


There  are  459  words  on  this  column,  and  there 
was,  therefore,  only  one  chance  out  of  459  that  the 
number  of  italic  words  would  agree  with  the  quo- 
tient obtained  by  dividing  371  by  53.  For  it  will  be 
seen  that  if  Charles  Waine  had  been  united  by  a 
hyphen,  or  if  waine,  being  the  name  of  a  thing,  a 
wagon,  had  been  printed  in  Roman  letters,  the  count 
would  not  have  agreed.  Again,  if  the  word  Heigh-ho 
(the  190th  word)  had  not  been  hyphenated,  or  if 
Chamber-lye  had  been  printed  as  two  words,  the 
word  Bacon  would  not  have  been  the  371st  word. 
Or  if  the  nineteenth  word,  infaith,  had  been  printed 
as  two  words,  the  count  would  have  been  thrown 
out.  If  our  selves  (the  sixty-fourth  and  sixty-fifth 
words)  had  been  run  together  as  one  word,  as  they 
often  are,  the  word  Bacon  would  have  been  the  370th 
word,  and  would  not  have  matched  with  the  page. 
Where  so  many  minute  points  had  to  be  considered, 
a  change  of  any  one  of  which  would  have  thrown  the 
count  out,  I  regarded  it  as  very  remarkable  that  the 
significant  word  Bacon  should  be  precisely  seven 
times  the  number  of  the  page. 

Still,  standing  alone,  this  might  have  happened 
accidentally. 

I  remembered,  then,  that  other  significant  word, 
Saint.  Albans,  in  act  iv,  scene  2,  page  67,  column  1. 

And  the   shirt,  to  say  the  truth,   stolen  from  my  host  of 
S.  A I  bones. 

I  counted  the  words  on  that  column,  and  the 
word  S.  Albones  was  the  402 d  word.     I  again  divided 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


295 


this  total  by  the  number  of  the  page,  67,  and  the 
quotient  was  precisely  6. 

67 
6 


402="  S.  Albones." 

I  counted  up  the  italic  words  on  this  column,  and 
I  found  there  were  just  six,  to  wit :  (1)  Bardolph 
(2),  Peto  (3),  Lazarus  (4),  Jack  (5),  Hal  (6),  John. 

This  was  certainly  extraordinary. 

There  were  on  that  page  890  words.  There  was, 
therefore,  but  one  chance  out  of  890  that  the  signifi- 
cant word  S.  Albones  would  precisely  match  the 
page.  But  there  was  only  one  chance  in  many 
thousands  that  the  two  significant  words  Bacon  and 
S.  Albones  would  both  agree  precisely  with  the  pages 
they  were  on  ;  and  not  one  chance  in  a  hundred 
thousand  that,  in  each  case,  the  number  of  italics 
on  the  first  column  of  the  page  would,  when  multi- 
plied by  the  page,  produce  in  each  case  numbers 
equivalent  to  the  rare  and  significant  words  Bacon 
and  S.  Albones. 

Now,  all  this  looks  plausible  ;  at  least 
some  may  think  it  looks  plausible;  but  a 
little  examination  will  show  that  there 
is  a  fatal  falsity  in  the  whole  proceed- 
ing which  at  once  destroys  his  con- 
clusions. When  he  does  not  succeed  by 
dividing    the   number    of   words    by   the 


296 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


number  of  the  page,  he  divides  by  the 
number  of  italic  words  ;  when  this  does 
not  succeed,  he  divides  by  the  number  of 
hyphens ;  when  this  does  not  succeed,  he 
divides  by  the  number  of  parentheses; 
when  this  does  not  succeed,  he  divides 
by  the  number  of  brackets ;  when  this 
again  does  not  succeed,  he  divides  by  a 
certain  number  of  lines ;  when  this  does 
not  succeed,  he  divides  by  something  else  ; 
and  when  this  fails  him,  he  multiplies,  or 
adds,  or  subtracts  anything  he  fancies. 
If,  in  counting  the  words  one  way,  he 
does  not  succeed,  he  counts  them  in  an- 
other ;  if  beginning  at  the  top  of  a  col- 
umn will  not  do,  he  begins  at  the  bot- 
tom ;  if  this  will  not  do,  he  begins  at  the 
middle  ;  if  this  again  will  not  do,  he  be- 
gins at  the  end  or  at  the  beginning  of  a 
scene,  or  anywhere  he  chooses !  He 
says  himself  (and  the  wonder  is,  that  he 
should  confess  such  a  thing,  and  expect 
people  to  believe  in  his  cipher):  "After 
a  long  time,  by  a  great  deal  of  experi- 
mentation, I  discovered  [discovered  is 
good !]    that    the    count    runs    not    only 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HTM  SELF. 


297 


from  the  beginnings  and  ends  of  acts, 
scenes,  and  columns,  but  also  from  the 
beginnings  and  ends  of  such  sub-divis- 
ions of  scenes  as  are  caused  by  the  stage 
directions,  such  as  '  Enter  Morton,'  '  En- 
ter Falstaff,'  '  A  retreat  is  sounded,' 
'  Exit  Worcester  and  Vernon,'  '  Falstaff 
riseth  up,'  etc." 

Does  not  this  beat  anything  ever  con- 
ceived ?  Is  it  fair?  Is  it  just?  Is  it 
philosophic  ?  Can  the  man  believe  in  it 
himself  ?  One  would  think  that,  either 
he  had  lost  his  wits,  or  he  must  think  that 
other  people  have  lost  theirs.  Surely 
there  is  a  screw  loose  in  some  part  of  his 
capacious  brain,  or  an  obliquity  cast  in 
his  mental  vision,  which  prevents  him 
from  thinking  logically,  or  seeing  straight 
and  clear,  as  other  people  think  and  see. 
I  fail  to  see  an  iota  of  reason,  of  com- 
mon-sense, of  probability,  in  the  whole 
business ;  and  to  me,  not  the  least  won- 
derful part  of  it  is  the  circumstance, 
that  so  shrewd  and  capable  a  man  as 
Mr.  Donnelly  should  have  worked  him- 
self into  a  belief  in   it. 


298  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

I  now  see  (May,  1888)  that  the  critics 
are  nearly  unanimous  in  condemning  Mr. 
Donnelly's  cipher.      Even   Professor  Da- 
vidson says  :    "  I  am  now  convinced  (and 
I  say  this  with  the  utmost  regret,  for  Mr. 
Donnelly's  sake)  that  he  is  entirely  mis- 
taken in  thinking  that  he  has  discovered 
a  cipher  in  the  plays.     The  cipher  breaks 
down,"  he  continues,  "just  where  I   sus- 
pected   it  would.      It    follows    no    single 
definite   principle ;    it  is  capricious.     Its 
author  sets  out,  in  every  case,  by  deter- 
mining what  he  wishes  to  find,  and   then 
exercising  his  ingenuity  in  reaching  it  by 
a   calculation   always   containing   an  ele- 
ment   of    caprice All   the   coher- 
ency in  Mr.  Donnelly's  curious  results  is 
due  to  arbitrary  counting." 

The  long-dreaded  "cipher  discovery" 
is  now,  therefore,  completely  exploded, 
and  "The  Great  Cryptogram"  will  be 
relegated  to  the  huge  collection  of  fail- 
ures, hoaxes,  and  delusions  of  the   past. 

The  following  paragraph  from  the  pen 
of  the  able  London  correspondent  and 
literary  critic  of  the  New  York  Tribune, 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


299 


Mr.    George    W.   Smalley,  may    suitably 
close  the  whole  cipher  controversy  : 

"  Mr.  Donnelly's  '  Great  Cryptogram  '  published 
in  London  to-day  (May  2,  1888)  receives  the  honor 
of  a  long  obituary  notice  in  The  Standard.  Mr. 
Donnelly  had  indeed  prepared  for  his  own  funeral 
by  once  more  refusing  to  disclose  the  key  of  the 
'Cryptogram.'  He  had  previously  delayed  on  the 
plea  that  he  should  lose  his  copyright,  and  now 
again  postpones  it  on  the  pretext  that  he  wishes  to 
work  it  out  in  more  plays.  But  it  does  not  matter. 
His  present  reviewer,  who  writes  with  signal  fair- 
ness, admits  that  Mr.  Donnelly's  literary  argument, 
though  not  original,  is  a  solid  and  conscientious 
piece  of  literary  criticism.  But  to  the  '  Cryptogram  ' 
he  is  merciless.  One  of  Mr.  Donnelly's  most  im- 
portant root  numbers,  523,  which  he  professes  to 
have  obtained  by  multiplying  certain  unnamed  num- 
bers, cannot  have  been  obtained  by  multiplying  any 
numbers  whatever.  The  cipher,  on  examination, 
proves  to  be  nothing  more  than  a  system  so  flexible 
and  so  arbitrarily  used  that  anybody  can  make  any 
story  with  it  that  the  words  in  Shakespeare  supply. 
There  is  just  show  enough  of  method  to  deceive 
those  who  do  not  examine  details.  But  Mr.  Don- 
nelly is  the  author  of  his  own  story,  selecting  his 
words  in  the  first  instance  and  framing  a  sort  of 
arithmetical  justification  for  them  afterward.  The 
story  itself  is  but  a  tissue  of  trivialities.  Such  is 
this  reviewer's  sentence. 


300 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


"Finallv  Mr.  Charles  Athill  Bluemantle,  Pur- 
suivant-of-Arms  in  the  Heralds'  College,  publishes 
a  statement  that  he  has  examined  the  original  papers 
relating  to  the  Shakespeare  grant  of  arms.  There 
can,  he  affirms,  be  no  doubt  that  a  patent  was  as- 
signed to  Johan  Shakespeare,  father  of  the  poet,  in 
1596,  which  was  ratified  in  a  subsequent  assign- 
ment for  Arden.  There  is  ample  proof  that  the 
grantee  established  the  fact  that  he  was  of  sufficient 
social  position  to  warrant  the  issue  of  the  patent. 
This  letter,  as  the  reviewer  well  says,  is  a  crushing 
blow  to  much  of  the  matter  of  the  cipher,  and  to  all 
the  theory  of  Mr.  Donnelly's  book." 


PORTRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF. 


30I 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

SOME    IMPORTANT    CONSIDERATIONS    TOUCH- 
ING   THE    BACONIAN    THEORY. 

''T^  HE  Baconians  cannot  get  over 
_L  the  circumstance  that  Shakespeare 
should  have  thought  so  much  of  money- 
getting,  of  real  estate  speculations,  of  his 
rank  as  a  gentleman,  and  so  little  of  his 
writings.  How  little  these  critics  seem 
to  know  of  the  history  of  men  of  letters ! 
There  is  nothing  more  common  than 
this  among  men  of  this  class.  Did  not 
Walter  Scott  think  much  more  of  his 
rank  as  a  Scottish  nobleman,  of  his 
position  as  a  gentleman  of  landed  es- 
tate, the  head  and  founder  of  a  family, 
than  of  all  his  fame  and  influence  as  an 
author?  Did  not  Congreve  think  much 
more  of  his  rank  as  an  English  gentle- 
man than  of  his  wide  reputation  as  a  wit 
and  dramatist  ?  and  did  not  Voltaire  tell 


302 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


him  he  would  not  have  thought  it  worth 
while  visiting  him  if  he  were  merely  a 
gentleman  ?  Did  not  Swift  confess  that 
his  highest  ambition  was  to  ride  in  a 
coach  and  four,  and  be  able  to  say  "  Damn 
you  "  to  any  man  living  ?  Shakespeare 
saw,  as  Swift  did,  the  immense  respect, 
the  solid  comfort  and  independence, 
which  rank  and  wealth  enjoyed  in  Eng- 
land;  and  it  is  natural  that  he  should 
have  looked  upon  the  attainment  of 
these  as  the  ne  plus  zdtra  of  worldly  am- 
bition. He  had  indeed  been  painting 
and  praising  men  of  noble  blood  all  his 
life,  and  it  was  natural  that  he  should 
now  aspire  to  be  one  of  them  himself. 
It  is  a  remarkable  fact,  one  which 
Shakespeare  has  no  doubt  somewhere 
noted  himself  (for  everything  may  be 
found  in  his  writings),  that  men  of 
genius  generally  think  more  of  some  in- 
ferior quality  which  they  possess,  or  at 
which  they  are  aiming,  than  of  that  by 
which  they  are  distinguished.  This  is 
one  of  their  weaknesses ;  and  it  is 
plain,  from  what  we  know  of  the  pains 


PORTRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF. 


303 


taken  by  Shakespeare  to  "gentle  his 
condition,"  that  he  thought  much  more 
of  the  rank  he  held  as  a  citizen  of  Strat- 
ford than  of  that  which  he  held  in  the 
eyes  of  the  world  as  an  author  and  actor. 
Mr.  Halliwell  Phillipps  rightly  thinks, 
that  Shakespeare's  "  continued  increase 
of  property  in  the  neighborhood  of  his 
early  home  had  constant  reference  to  the 
establishment  of  a  family,  which  should 
for  ages  inherit  the  fruits  of  his  exer- 
tions." Did  not  Scott's  efforts  have  the 
same  object  ?  and  was  not  Scott,  of  all 
men,  the  one  man  who,  in  genius,  char- 
acter, and  productions,  came  nearest  to 
Shakespeare  ? 

It  has  been  asked,  How  should  Shake- 
speare, with  his  plebeian  training  and 
associations,  have  acquired  such  knowl- 
edge of  the  language,  manners,  and  con- 
duct of  the  nobility,  as  he  displays  in  the 
historical  plays  ?  I  might  ask  in  reply, 
How  should  Bacon,  with  his  patrician 
training  and  associations,  have  acquired 
such  knowledge  of  the  language,  man- 
ners, and  conduct  of  the  commonalty,  as 


304  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

is  displayed  in  these  same  plays?  The 
poet,  the  man  of  imaginative  power,  is 
much  more  likely  to  form  correct  notions 
of  unknown  territory,  than  the  philoso- 
pher, the  man  of  facts,  figures,  and  logi- 
cal conclusions.  I  have  heard  that  Du- 
mas, before  he  ever  saw  Italy,  described 
that  country  much  more  correctly  and 
graphically  than  any  traveller  that  had 
seen  it.  This  is  the  power  of  genius ; 
this  is  that  magical  power  which  we  call 
imagination,  and  which  plodders  cannot 
comprehend. 

But  Lord  Bacon  was  also  a  man  of 
genius,  with  uncommon  powers  of  imagi- 
nation. True  ;  but  poetry  was  not  his 
forte  ;  he  did  not  live,  move,  and  have 
his  being  in  the  regions  of  fancy,  but 
in  the  regions  of  fact.  He  was  a  logi- 
cian, an  expounder  of  principles,  a  path- 
finder in  science,  a  practical  philosopher, 
whose  grand  aim  was  utility,  the  find- 
ing of  things  of  practical  usefulness  to 
mankind.  Now  this  is  the  very  oppo- 
site of  Shakespeare's  character.  While 
Bacon  aimed  to  improve  the  physical  and 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  rt  0  i 


JUD 


social  condition  of  men,  Shakespeare 
strove  to  fill  their  souls  with  joyful  or 
sad  feelings,  to  inspire  their  minds 
with  noble  fancies,  high  thoughts  and 
heroic  aspirations.  Besides,  how  should 
Lord  Bacon,  the  companion  of  refined 
and  noble  people,  the  studious,  serious, 
and  learned  nobleman,  the  philosophic 
Christian  and  practical  moralist,  who  de- 
clared that  he  "  was  born  in  an  aee 
when  religion  was  in  no  very  prosperous 
state,"  and  wished  to  rise  to  civil  dig"- 
nities  in  order  that,  by  the  exercise  of 
his  talents,  he  "might  effect  something 
which  would  be  profitable  for  the  salva- 
tion of  souls,"-  -how  should  this  man  have 
fallen  in  love  with  such  a  reprobate  as 
Falstaff,  and  have  made  him  a  leading: 
character  in  three  different  plays?  Does 
not  every  one  who  is  at  all  familiar  with 
his  writings  feel  that  such  a  thing  is  con- 
trary to  reason,  to  analogy  and  experi- 
ence ?  A  hen  cannot  lay  ducks'  eggs, 
nor  a  hound  give  birth  to  foxes. 

On  the  other  hand,  any  one  who  is  at 
all  familiar  with  the  life  of  Shakespeare, 


20 


306 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


such  as  it  is,  can  see  nothing  remarkable 
in  his  being  familiar  with  such  men  as 
Falstaff,  Pistol,  and  Bardolph,  and  loving 
to  portray  them.  Not  only  among  the 
motley  crowds  of  the  London  taverns 
and  public-houses  ;  not  only  among  the 
hangers-on  at  the  theaters  and  places  of 
public  resort,  but  even  among  the  Strat- 
ford roysterers,  such  characters  are  likely 
to  have  been  among  his  familiars.* 

Apart  from  his  lack  of  ability  for  such 
a  piece  of  work,  Bacon's  whole  life,  which 
is  well  known  for  its  serious  aims,  forbids 
us  to  suppose  he  could  have  had  a  hand 
in  the    creation    of    such  a  character  as 

*  Mr.  Spencer  T.  Baynes  has  discovered  some  remarkable 
things  that  show  how  easily  this  may  have  been  the  case.  As 
late  as  1592,  when  the  poet's  father  was  still  in  difficulties, 
"it  is  officially  stated,  as  the  result  of  an  inquiry  into  the  num- 
ber who  failed  to  attend  the  church  service  once  a  month,  ac- 
cording to  the  statutory  requirement,  that  John  Shakespeare, 
with  some  others,  two  of  whom,  curiously  enough,  are  named 
Fluellen  and  Bardolph,  '  come  not  to  church  for  fear  of  pro- 
cess for  debt.'  "  Dickens  drew  his  father  and  his  mother  in 
Micawber  and  his  wife.  Is  it  not  possible  that  Shakespeare 
drew  his  father  and  mother  in  one  or  more  of  his  plays  ? 
Why  not  ?  If  we  could  only  get  behind  the  scenes,  we  might 
find  that  we  know  really  more  about  Shakespeare  and  his 
family  than  we  do  about  many  a.man  with  a  two-volume  biog- 
raphy. 


POR  TEA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  307 

Falstaff.  The  practical,  scientific,  experi- 
mental, Christian  philosopher,  who  spoke 
of  himself  as  "  a  servant  of  God,"  and  all 
of  whose  writings  breathe  morality,  sober- 
ness, and  utilitarian  wisdom,  never  could 
have  given  himself  up  to  the  creation  of 
such  a  "  villanous,  abominable  misleader 
of  youth,"  such  a  "white-bearded  Satan," 
as  Falstaff.  He  would  have  thought  he 
was,  instead  of  "effecting  something 
profitable  for  the  salvation  of  souls," 
demoralizing  the  youth  of  the  country, 
by  creating  such  a  character.  Bacon's 
writings  are  not  distinguished  for  wit 
and  humor,  but  for  wisdom  and  sagacity, 
for  "wise  saws  and  modern  instances;" 
whereas  Shakespeare  and  his  characters, 
especially  in  the  comedies,  are  the  very 
embodiment  of  wit  and  humor,  fun 
and  frolic,  bent  upon  fooling  and  being 
fooled  "to  the  top  of  their  bent!" 
Bacon  labored  to  educate  man  socially, 
and  to  improve  his  material  condition  ; 
Shakespeare  labored  to  amuse  and  in- 
struct him,  to  lighten  his  cares  and  en- 
liven his   spirits,   to   "fill   his    eyes  with 


3o8 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


pleasure  and  his  ears  with  melody."  He 
endeavored  to  soothe  the  troubled  and 
care-worn  spirit  with  wit  and  laughter ; 
to  amuse  the  toil-worn  artisan  and 
anxious  courtier  by  the  exhibition  of  joy- 
ous carelessness  and  rash  venturesome- 
ness  ;  he  strove  to  shame  the  idler  and 
the  sluggard  by  setting  before  his  eyes 
his  country's  heroes  toiling  and  moiling 
for  fame  and  honor.  To  do  this  well,  he 
ransacked  the  literature  of  Europe  ;  he 
read  not  only  all  the  best  histories, 
the  best  legends,  ancient  and  modern, 
but  all  the  light,  romantic  tales  of 
France,  Italy  and  Spain,  the  famous  old 
legends  of  popular  heroes  and  heroines 
of  Britain,  and  the  lives  of  patriots,  mar- 
tyrs, and  statesmen  everywhere.  Charles 
Reade,  on  finding  that  Shakespeare  bor- 
rowed so  largely  from  all  sources,  used 
to  call  him,  irreverently  but  significantly, 
"  the  great  Warwickshire  thief  !  " 

What  interest  could  Bacon  find  in  all 
these  light  tales  and  amorous  romances  ? 
Were  not  such  studies  foreign  to  his 
tastes,    as    displayed     by    his    writings? 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF. 


309 


Shakespeare,  like  the  bee,  could  extract 
honey  from  them  all ;  he  was  the  great 
alchemist  who  could  transmute  base 
metals  into  gold ;  and  so,  indeed,  could 
Bacon,  but  for  very  different  purposes. 
Each  followed  the  bent  of  his  genius ; 
each  worked  for  different  objects  ;  pre- 
cisely as  those  do  who  read  their  writ- 
ings. Imagine  William  Cobbett  compos- 
ing a  five  -  act  play  !  Imagine  Charles 
Mathews  or  Theodore  Hook  writing  a 
long,  serious  discourse  on  taxes  ! 

"  To  ask  me  to  believe,"  says  Mr.  Sped- 
ding,  the  well-known  biographer  of  Lord 
Bacon  and  editor  of  his  works,  address- 
ing Judge  Holmes,  whose  book,  "The 
Authorship  of  Shakespeare,"  he  says  he 
has  read  from  beginning  to  end, — "To 
ask  me  to  believe,  that  a  man  who  was 
famous  for  a  variety  of  other  accomplish- 
ments, whose  life  was  divided  between 
public  business,  the  practice  of  a  labori- 
ous profession,  and  private  study  of  the 
art  of  investigating  the  material  laws  of 
nature, — a  man  of  large  acquaintance,  of 
note  from  early  manhood,  and  one  of  the 


3  i  o  WILLIAM  SUA KESPEARE 

busiest  men  of  his  time,  but  who  was 
never  suspected  of  wasting  time  in  writ- 
ing poetry,  and  is  not  known  to  have 
written  a  single  blank  verse  in  all  his  life 
— to  ask  me  to  believe  that  this  man  was 
the  author  of  those  plays,  that  is  to  say, 
of  fourteen  comedies,  ten  historical 
dramas,  and  eleven  tragedies,  exhibiting 
the  greatest,  and  the  greatest  variety  of 
excellence  that  has  been  attained  in  that 
kind  of  composition, — is  like  asking  me 
to  believe  that  Lord  Brougham  was  the 
author,  not  only  of  Dickens'  works,  but 
of  Thackeray's  and  of  Tennyson's  be- 
sides." Now,  if  Mr.  Spedding  thought 
thus — a  man  who  made  a  life-study  of 
Bacon's  works  and  who  thoroughly  un- 
derstood the  character  of  his  mind  and 
the  events  of  his  life — how  absurd  it  must 
be  for  any  ordinary  reader  of  Bacon  to 
credit  him  with  the  writings  of  Shake- 
speare ! 

While  nothing  in  Bacon's  life  and 
writings,  therefore,  justifies  us  in  sup- 
posing that  he  was  familiar  with  the  lives 
and  manners  of  the  rough-and-ready  char- 


PORTRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF. 


311 


acters  that  abound  in  Shakespeare's 
plays,  Shakespeare's  life  and  writings 
show  us  that  he  was  familiar  with  such 
characters,  and  knew  all  about  them. 
It  is  generally  allowed  that  Shallow 
and  Silence  were  characters  such  as  he 
had  known  and  associated  with  in  and 
around  Stratford.  Who  were  Mouldy, 
Shadow,  Wart,  Feeble,  and  Bullcalf  but 
poor  country  clodhoppers,  such  as  he  had 
often  seen  and  spoken  to  in  the  same 
region  ?  WTho  were  Pistol,  Poins,  Bar- 
dolph,  and  Mrs.  Quickly,  but  people  such 
as  he  had  seen  in  the  taverns  of  London 
and  elsewhere  ?  And  why  not  Falstaff 
as  well  as  the  rest  ?  Were  such  people 
Lord  Bacon's  familiars  ?  We  are  sure 
they  were  not ;  for,  from  the  nature  of  the 
man,  he  could  take  no  pleasure  in  their 
conversation,  and  would  be  the  last  per- 
son in  the  world  to  affect  their  company. 
How  did  Moliere,  the  son  of  the  old- 
clothes  dealer,  learn  the  language  and 
manners  of  the  nobility  of  France  ? 
Probably  he  had  no  better  opportunity 
of  becoming  acquainted  with  the   noble- 


312 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


men  of  the   court  of   Louis   XIV.    than 
Shakespeare  had  with  those  of  the  court 
of    Elizabeth.       Not    only    the    Earl    of 
Southampton,     but     William,      Earl     of 
Pembroke,      and     Philip,     his     brother, 
Earl  of  Montgomery,  seem  to  have  been 
the    personal    friends    and     patrons     of 
Shakespeare :     witness     the     words     of 
Heming  and  Condell,  who  dedicated  the 
first    complete    edition    of   his  works    to 
these    two    last-named  noblemen  :    "  But 
since  your  lordships  have  been  pleased  to 
think  these  trifles  something  heretofore, 
and    have    prosecuted    both    them,    and 
their  author  living,  with  so   much  favor  ; 
we  hope  that  (they  outliving  him,  and  he 
not  having  the  fate,  common  with  some, 
to  be  executor  to  his  own  writings)  you 
will    use    the    same    indulgence    towards 
them  you  have  done  unto  their  parent." 
They  showed  "indulgence"    toward  the 
Poet ;  that  is,  kindness  and  friendship,  as 
expressed    in  the  language  of  the  time. 
How   little    they    imagined    how  greatly 
they  honored  themselves  by  this  friend- 
ship ! 


POR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF. 


313 


I  have  already  quoted  Maginn's  say- 
ing :  "  The  reason  why  we  know  so  little 
of  the  Poet  is,  that  when  his  business 
was  over  at  the  theater,  he  did  not 
mix  with  his  fellow-actors,  but  stepped 
into  his  boat  and  rowed  up  to  White- 
hall, there  to  spend  his  time  with  the 
Earl  of  Southampton,  and  other  gen- 
tlemen about  the  Court."  Why  should 
it  be  surprising,  that  a  man  so  sur- 
rounded, so  befriended,  and  so  enriched, 
should  have  learned  the  language  and 
behavior  of  gentlemen,  and  have  tried  to 
become  one  of  them  himself? 

The  operations  of  genius,  which  are 
so  mystical  to  others,  are  sometimes  not 
perfectly  explicable  to  the  man  of 
genius  himself.  When  Hogg's  publisher 
objected  to  some  of  his  poems  because 
he  could  not  understand  them,  the  poet 
indignantly  replied  :  "  Hoot,  man,  I  dinna 
understand  them  mysel  sometimes!"  I 
doubt  whether  Shakespeare  could  tell, 
for  instance,  how  he  became  so  inti- 
mately acquainted  with  the  heart  of 
woman.        He  would    probably    say    he 


3 1 4  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

divined    it.       By    a  sort   of   sixth  sense, 
combined    with  large    common-sense,  he 
succeeded    in    portraying    her   character 
so  truly.      Mrs.  Siddons,  the  most  majes- 
tic of  Shakespearean   actresses,  declared 
that  he    seems    to    have    known    every 
feeling,   every  thought,   every  wish  that 
enters  a   woman's   heart.      How   absurd 
to    bring     an    accusation     of    ignorance 
against  such  a    man  !     If   he    knew   the 
very  inmost  heart  and   nature  of  woman, 
and  could  express  her  feelings,  thoughts, 
and  wishes  so  admirably,  how  much  more 
v  those   of  his   own  sex,  no  matter  of  what 
rank?        The     genius    of     Shakespeare 
could    surely    mount    into  the  region  of 
nobility    much     more     easily    than     the 
genius  of  Bacon  could    descend,    drama- 
tically, into  that  of  the  commonalty  ;  and 
it  is  much  more  likely  that  Shakespeare, 
the    student    of    human    nature,    should 
have  acquired  this  marvelous  insight  in- 
to  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  woman, 
than   Lord   Bacon,  the  sober  student  of 
syllogistic  and  practical  philosophy. 

Shakespeare  is  all  action,  life,  and  poe- 


PORTRAYED  BY  HIMSELF. 


315 


try  ;  Bacon  is  all  contemplation,  calmness, 
and  repose  ;  Shakespeare  all  imagination, 
wit,  and  humor ;  Bacon  all  logic,  science, 
and  sense.  "  As  far  as  we  know,"  says 
a  writer  in  Temple  Bar,  "  it  would  have 
been  as  impossible  for  Lord  Bacon  to 
portray  character  in  action  as  it  would 
have  been  foreign  to  Shakespeare's  mind 
to  have  reasoned  from  propositions  to  a 
logical  system." 


3 1 6  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


CHAPTER  XX. 

BEN     JONSON,     BACON,     AND     SHAKESPEARE. 

IT  is  well  known  that  Lord  Bacon  en- 
gaged Ben  Jonson  to  turn  some  of  his 
philosophical  writings  into  Latin,  and 
the  great  philosopher  treated  the  learned 
dramatist  so  well,  that  the  latter  ever 
spoke  with  respect  and  esteem  of  him. 
I  have  sometimes  thought,  what  a  pity 
Jonson  did  not  avail  himself  of  his  ac- 
quaintance with  Bacon  to  introduce  his 
brilliant  friend  Shakespeare  to  him,  and 
afterwards  give  an  account  of  the  inter- 
view !  What  a  delicious  bit  of  reading 
that  account  would  be  !  What  editor 
would  not  give  a  thousand  dollars  for  a 
report  of  that  conversation  !  I  have  no 
doubt  each  would  have  richly  enjoyed 
the  conversation  of  the  other.  But 
whither  am    I  straying  ?     Very  probably 


PORTRAYED  BY  HIMSELF. 


3*7 


some  of  the  Baconians  will  say  that  this 
is  how  Shakespeare  became  acquainted 
with  Bacon,  and  came  into  the  possession 
of  the  plays !  There  is  no  telling  what 
absurdities  they  may  not  commit. 

Now,  if  Bacon  were  really  a  dramatic 
author,  writing  such  plays  as  his 
admirers  suppose  he  wrote,  is  it  likely 
that  he  would  never  have  spoken  of  his 
plays,  never  have  counselled  about  some 
passage,  scene,  or  character  in  one  of  his 
plays,  with  the  recognized  dramatic 
authority  of  the  day,  the  "  big  gun  "  of 
the  stage,  the  famous  dramatist  whom  he 
thus  employed  and  knew  familiarly  in  a 
literary  way  ?  And  if  he  did  so,  is  it 
likely  that  Jonson  would  never  have 
mentioned  the  fact  ?  If  he  were  the 
author  of  the  plays  attributed  to  Shake- 
speare, is  it  credible  that  honest  Ben 
would  have  given  Shakespeare  the  sole 
and  entire  credit  for  them,  and  eulogized 
him  in  the  boundless  way  he  did  ?  Is 
it  not  monstrous  to  suppose  that  this 
downright,  outspoken,  fearless  man  had 
turned    conspirator,   and   acted   such    an 


3i8 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


outrageously  false  and  perfidious  role  as 
the  Baconians  imagine  ?  Consider  for  a 
moment  what  Ben  Jonson,  who  was  well 
acquainted  with  the  life  and  works  of 
Shakespeare,  wrote  of  him  : 

Soul  of  the  age, 
Th'  applause,  delight,  the  wonder  of  our  stage, 
My  Shakespeare,  rise  !     I  will  not  lodge  thee  by 
Chaucer  or  Spenser,  or  bid  Beaumont  lie 
A  little  further,  to  make  thee  room  : 
Thou  art  a  monument  without  a  tomb, 
And  art  alive  still  while  thy  book  doth  live, 
And  we  have  wits  to  read,  or  praise  to  give. 

And  then,  after  showing  how  he  out- 
shone Lily,  Kid,  and  Marlowe,  and 
though  he  had  "small  Latin  and  less 
Greek,"  did  far  surpass  the  poets  of  "in- 
solent Greece  or  haughty  Rome,"  he 
continues  : 

Triumph,  my  Britain  !  thou  hast  one  to  show, 
To  whom  all  scenes  of  Europe  homage  owe. 
He  was  not  of  an  age,  but  for  all  time  ! 
And  all  the  Muses  still  were  in  their  prime, 
When,  like  Apollo,  he  came  forth  to  warm 
Our  ears,  or  like  a  Mercury  to  charm. 
Nature  herself  was  proud  of  his  designs, 
And  joyed  to  wear  the  dressing  of  his  lines; 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  -y  i  g 

Which  were  so  richly  spun,  and  woven  so  fit, 

As  since  she  will  vouchsafe  no  other  wit. 

The  merry  Greek,  tart  Aristophanes, 

Neat  Terence,  witty  Plautus,  now  not  please ; 

But  antiquated  and  deserted  lie, 

As  they  were  not  of  Nature's  family. 

Sweet  Swan  of  Avon  !  what  a  sight  it  were 

To  see  thee  in  our  waters  yet  appear  ; 

And  make  those  flights  upon  the  banks  of  Thames 

That  so  did  take  Eliza,  and  our  James  ! 

Could  there  be  any  higher  praise  ? 
Could  there  be  any  fuller  or  better  appre- 
ciation of  Shakespeare's  genius  ?  Could 
this  be  written  of  one  who  never  wrote 
the  plays,  Jonson  and  all  the  actors  of 
Shakespeare's  companies  having  been 
duped  and  deceived  by  Shakespeare  ? 
Could  Jonson  so  write,  if  there  were  a 
shadow  of  suspicion  that  he  was  not  the 
author  of  the  plays  ? 

Then,  again :  if  Jonson,  the  learned 
Greek  and  Latin  scholar,  appreciated 
the  self-taught  Shakespeare  so  highly, 
surely  there  must  have  been  others 
who  appreciated  him  just  as  highly ; 
and  if  he  were  so  highly  appreciated, 
even    by    the    learned    of    his    day,    how 


320 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE. 


could  Bacon  be  ashamed  of  claiming  the 
authorship  of  such  works,  if  they  were 
his  ?  or  how  could  Shakespeare  take 
such  works  from  Bacon  and  palm  them 
off  as  his  own  ?  Mr.  Donnelly  claims 
that  the  knowledge  of  such  authorship 
would  be  fatal  to  Bacon's  political  pros- 
pects. Could  anything  be  more  ab- 
surd? If  Bacon  were  the  father  of  the 
plays,  he  would  rather  throw  his  political 
prospects  to  the  winds  than  disown  or 
deny  such  offspring. 

Ben  Jonson  knew  the  man  and  his 
works  ;  he  knew  both  Bacon  and  Shake- 
speare, and  knowing  both,  he  could 
not  have  been  deceived,  nor  could  he 
deceive.  He  knew  how  Shakespeare 
studied  ;  how  he  toiled,  how  he  wrote, 
and  what  he  wrote ;  he  knew  the  char- 
acter and  genius  of  the  man,  which  no 
lover  of  the  Poet  ever  appreciated  better 
than  he ;  and  remembering  how  admi- 
rably he  conducted  himself,  and  what  a 
pleasant  companion  he  was,  he  cherished 
and  loved  his  memory  as  a  friend,  as 
much  as  he  >  admired  and  venerated  his 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


321 


genius  as  a  poet.  Knowing  and  esteem- 
ing Lord  Bacon  as  he  did,  loving  and 
admiring  Shakespeare  as  he  did,  is  it 
for  a  moment  to  be  imagined  that  he 
went  deliberately  to  work  to  pervert 
the  truth,  mock  the  dead,  falsify  the 
living,  and  deceive  posterity  for  all 
time  ?  Such  an  idea  is  so  monstrous,  I 
am  almost  ashamed  to  ask  the  question. 

"You  will  not  deny,"  says  Mr.  Sped- 
ding,  addressing  Judge  Holmes,  "that 
tradition  goes  for  something ;  that,  in 
the  absence  of  any  reason  for  doubting 
it,  the  concurrent  and  undisputed  testi- 
mony to  a  fact  of  all  who  had  the  best 
means  of  knowing  it,  is  a  reason  for  be- 
lieving it,  or  at  least  for  thinking:  it  more 
probable  than  any  other  given  fact  which 
is  irreconcilable  with  it,  and  which  is  not 
so  supported.  On  this  ground  alone, 
without  inquiring  farther,  I  believe  that 
the  author  of  the  plays,  published  in  1623, 
was  a  man  named  William  Shakespeare. 
It  was  believed  by  those  who  had  the  best 
means  of  knowing,  and  I  know  nothing 
which  should  lead  me  to  doubt  it."     This 


21 


322  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

is  sane  reasoning,  conclusive  I  think,  to 
those  who  think  sanely. 

In  his  Apology,  Lord  Bacon  speaks  of 
having  written  a  sonnet  (he  adds,  quite 
naturally,  "  though  I  profess  not  to  be  a 
poet "),  tending  to  a  reconciliation  be- 
tween Queen  Elizabeth  and  the  Earl  of 
Essex ;  and  this  sonnet  he  says  he 
showed  to  one  of  the  Earl's  friends, 
"who  commended  it."  Is  it  conceivable 
that  the  man  who  could  thus  take  a  pride 
in  showing  a  sonnet  he  had  composed, 
and  in  mentioning  the  fact  that  it  was 
favorably  regarded  by  a  friend,  should 
have  written  the  most  superb  tragedies 
and  comedies  the  world  ever  saw,  and 
never  once,  in  speech  or  in  writing,  have 
spoken  of  them  to  any  living  soul  ? 

We  know  that  Shakespeare  died  in 
1616,  and  that  his  last  play  was  written 
before  161 2  ;  we  know  that  Bacon  lived 
till  1626 — ten  long  years  after  Shake- 
speare's death — and  that  his  last  years 
were  passed  in  perfect  ease  and  quiet- 
ness. Why,  if  he  were  fond  of  dramatic 
composition,   did  he    not   compose,  after 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


323 


Shakespeare's  death,  at  least  one  more  of 
those  Shakesperean  plays  of  which  he  is 
supposed  to  be  the  author?  Why,  in  the 
name  of  all  that  is  reasonable,  did  he 
not,  in  the  ripest,  wisest,  most  expe- 
rienced, and  most  leisurely  part  of  his 
Hfe,  throw  off  one  of  those  divine  dramas 
that  must  now  have  come  so  easy  to  him  ? 
Every  proof,  every  sign,  every  vestige  of 
evidence,  every  reasonable  suspicion  falls 
to  the  ground. 

The  folio  of  1623  is  crammed  with 
errors  and  blunders  of  every  kind  ;  while 
Bacon's  own  works  are  perfectly  correct 
im  every  particular:  not  a  comma  mis- 
placed, nor  a  blunder  of  any  kind,  is  to 
be  found  in  them.  How  comes  it,  then, 
that  these  are  faultless,  while  the  plays 
are  bristling  with  errors?  How  comes  it 
that  these  prose  writings  are  so  carefully 
corrected,  while  the  poetical  ones  are 
not  ?  Surely  no  sane  person  can  fail  to 
see  that  this  is  simply  because  the  author 
of  the  latter  was  dead,  and  could  not  cor- 
rect the  printed  proofs  of  his  works ; 
while   the   author  of  the  former  was  liv- 


3^4 


WILLIAM  SUA KESPEA RE 


ing,  and  carefully  corrected  all  he  wrote 
before  going  to  press. 

If  the  plays  were  Bacon's,  how  could 
he  have  allowed  them  to  be  collected 
by  the  friends  and  fellow-actors  of  the 
dramatist  (1623),  prepared  for  publica- 
tion, and  printed  with  all  manner  of 
errors,  interpolations,  and  blunders  as 
the  plays  of  Shakespeare  ?  Nay,  more  ; 
allowed  them  to  be  printed  with  lauda- 
tory verses  and  eulogiums  on  the  spu- 
rious author,  from  various  well-known 
hands,  among  them  one  from  his  friend 
Ben  Jonson  !  How  could  he  have 
allowed  those  plays  to  be  thus  pub- 
lished, with  the  highest  praise  of  the 
man  who  was  not  the  author,  and  with- 
out a  word  of  comment  from  him  ?  To 
those  who  make  such  ridiculous  asser- 
tions, I  can  only  reply,  in  the  words  of 
Antony  : 

O  Judgment !  thou  art  fled  to  brutish  beasts, 
And  men  have  lost  their  reason  ! 


PORTRAYED  BY  HIMSELF. 


325 


CHAPTER  XX. 

CONCLUSION. 

THE  whole  Baconian  theory  is  so 
preposterous,  I  am  almost  ashamed 
to  say  another  word  about  it  ;  but  now 
that  I  am  at  it,  I  shall  endeavor  to  finish 
it.  A  hundred  things  might  be  said  to 
show  its  absurdity ;  but  I  will  content 
myself  with  but  two  or  three  more, 
which,  I  think,  together  with  those  argu- 
ments I  have  already  given,  will  be  suffi- 
cient to  settle  the  matter  forever. 

It  is  contended  that  because  there  are 
many  expressions  and  thoughts  in  Shake- 
speare's writings  that  are  to  be  found  in 
Bacon's,  these  must  have  been  written  by 
the  same  hand.  In  this  way,  one  might 
prove  almost  any  writer  of  that  day  to 
have  been  the  author  of  Shakespeare's 
plays.      Nay,  one  might  prove  that  some 


326 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


writer  of  the  present  day,  or  of  the  day 
before  Shakespeare,  was  their  author. 
There  is  nothing-  new  under  the  sun. 
The  very  words  I  am  now  using,  the  very 
sentence  I  am  now  writing,  and  possibly 
every  sentence  in  this  book,  may,  in 
some  shape,  be  pointed  out  in  some  other 
author.  We  are  all  of  us  constantly  bor- 
rowing words  and  expressions  one  from 
another,  or  unconsciously  repeating  what 
was  uttered  before.  In  every  age,  cer- 
tain thoughts  and  certain  expressions  are 
more  or  less  predominant ;  and  to  argue 
that  because  one  literary  man  uses  in  his 
works  expressions  or  thoughts  similar  to 
those  of  another,  these  must  have  been 
all  written  by  the  same  hand,  is  the 
height  of  absurdity.  By  such  reasoning, 
anything,  as  I  said,  may  be  proved. 
Proved  ?  Why,  has  not  somebody 
proved,  or  pretended  to  prove,  that  our 
Saviour  never  existed  ?  Did  not  Berke- 
ley prove  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as 
matter  ?  Anything  may  be  proved,  after  a 
fashion ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  some- 
body will,   in   the  next  generation,  prove 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


327 


that  Shakespeare  never  existed  at  all. 
But  as  a  matter  of  fact,  even  this  kind  of 
"proof"  can  by  no  means  be  allowed. 
If  anybody  should  know  the  style  of 
Bacon  as  compared  with  the  style  of  any 
of  his  contemporaries,  that  man  is  Mr. 
Spedding,  who  was  familiar  with  almost 
every  line  that  Bacon  wrote.  Now  hear 
what  this  gentleman  says  of  these  sim- 
ilar expressions,  these  parallelisms,  col- 
lected by  Judge  Holmes:  "Shakespeare 
may  have  derived  a  good  deal  from 
Bacon  :  he  had  no  doubt  read  the  '  Ad- 
vancement of  Learning'  and  the  first 
edition  of  the  '  Essays' ;  and  most  likely 
had  frequently  heard  Bacon  speak  in  the 
Courts  and  the  Star  Chamber.  But 
among  all  the  parallelisms  which  you 
have  collected,  with  so  much  industry, 
to  prove  the  identity  of  the  writers,  I 
have  not  observed  one  in  which  I  should 
not  myself  have  inferred,  from  the  differ- 
ence of  style,  a  difference  of  hand 

I  doubt  whether  there  are  five  lines  to- 
gether to  be  found  in  Bacon  which  could 
be    mistaken    for    Shakespeare,    or    five 


328 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


lines  in  Shakespeare  which  could  be  mis- 
taken for  Bacon,  by  one  who  is  familiar 
with  the  several  styles  and  practiced  in 
such  observation."  Then  he  goes  on  to 
show  that  style,  like  the  hand-writing  of 
different  persons,  is  something  which, 
though  apparently  similar  on  a  superfi- 
cial examination,  is  found  to  be  alto- 
gether different  on  a  close  examination. 
It  is  painful  to  see  how  Shakespeare 
has  been  dragged  down  into  the  dust 
by  some  of  the  Baconians,  Now  that 
they  have  fallen  foul  of  him,  and  found 
him  out  to  be  an  impostor,  there  is  noth- 
ing too  odious  they  can  say  of  him :  he 
is  an  ignoramus,  a  deceiver,  a  drunken 
sot,  a  mere  money-grabber ;  and  so  on. 

O  mighty  Poet !    Dost  thou  lie  so  low  ? 

Are  all  thy  conquests,  glories,  triumphs,  spoils, 

Shrunk  to  this  little  measure  ? 

When  Berkeley  proved  that  there  is  no 
such  thing  as  matter,  Byron  said  it  was 
no  matter  what  he  said ;  and  when  the 
Baconians      prove     that     Bacon     wrote 


PORTRA  YED  BY  HIMSELF. 


329 


Shakespeare's  plays,  and  that  Shake- 
speare was  an  illiterate  ignoramus  who 
could  hardly  sign  his  own  name,  etc.,  it 
is  no  matter  what  they  say,  we  are  not 
going  to  heed  them.  If  there  were  no 
madness  in  the  world,  sanity  would  not 
be  properly  appreciated. 

In  his  last  will  and  testament,  Lord 
Bacon  gave  particular  directions  as  to 
the  disposal  of  his  books  and  manu- 
scripts ;  and  in  this  document  occurs  the 
well-known  sentence :  "  For  my  name 
and  memory,  I  leave  it  to  men's  charita- 
ble speeches,  to  foreign  nations,  and  to 
the  next  ages."  Now,  if  he  had  been 
the  author  of  the  plays,  is  it  at  all  likely, 
is  it  in  any  way  conceivable,  that  he 
would  have  left  them  unmentioned, 
unregarded,  in  this  important  docu- 
ment ?  Did  they  contain  such  deadly 
thrusts  against  government  that,  like 
Junius,  he  feared  vengeance  on  his  de- 
scendants, of  whom  he  had  none?  Did 
these  plays,  that  so  "  did  take  Eliza  and 
our  James,"  contain  such  deadly  treason? 
Or    will     any    sane    man    maintain    that 


330  WILLI  A  M  SHAKES  PEA  RE 

Bacon  was  unaware  of  their  merit,  and 
thought  them  too  poor  to  own  ?  Even 
if  he  were  afraid  of  the  verdict  of  his 
own  generation — which,  as  we  have 
seen,  was  universally  favorable — he  could 
certainly  have  left  them  without  appre- 
hension, like  his  "name  and  memory,"  to 
"  the  next  ages."  But  it  seems  absurd 
to  argue  the  question  any  further.  Had 
it  not  been  for  the  scantiness  of  the  ma- 
terials for  Shakespeare's  life,  nobody 
would  ever  have  dared  to  raise  a  doubt 
concerning  his  right  to  what  went  under 
his  name ;  and  had  it  not  been  for  the 
scantiness  of  these  materials,  his  delinea- 
tion of  himself,  and  of  other  well-known 
characters  in  his  plays,  would  probably 
have  been  noticed  long  ago. 

Bacon  had  done  a  great  life-work  in 
other  spheres.  He  was  an  active  lawyer 
and  politician,  a  courtier  and  constitu- 
tional adviser  of  the  Crown,  a  judge  of 
the  highest  court  in  England,  an  original 
and  profound  investigator  of  natural 
phenomena,  and  a  voluminous  miscella- 
neous writer.      He  had  crowded  the  work 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  2  ->  T 

of  several  lives  into  these  spheres  alone  ; 
and  surely  his  activity  in  all  these  vari- 
ous occupations,  all  of  them  more  or  less 
congruous,  is  sufficient,  without  making 
him  out  a  great  dramatic  poet  as  well,  a 
quality  altogether  foreign  to  his  charac- 
ter ;  and  crediting  him  with  the  work  of 
another  life,  the  greatest,  but  one,  of  all 
the  lives  that  ever  were  lived.  <4That 
a  human  being,"  says  Mr.  Spedding, 
"  possessed  of  the  faculties  necessary  to 
make  a  Shakespeare  should  exist,  is  ex- 
traordinary ;  that  a  human  being  pos- 
sessed of  the  faculties  necessary  to  make 
a  Bacon  should  exist,  is  extraordinary  ; 
that  two  such  human  beings  should  have 
been  living:  in  London  at  the  same  time, 
is  more  extraordinary  still  ; — but  that 
one  man  should  exist  possessing  the 
faculties  necessary  to  make  both,  would 
have  been  the  most  extraordinary  thing 
of  all."  I  should  think  so  ;  so  extraordi- 
nary that  it  is  simply  impossible. 

Besides,  has  anybody  ever  heard  of 
a  dramatic  author  writing  a  play, — nay, 
thirty-seven    plays, — which  he  never  de- 


332  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

sired  to  see  acted,  or  in  the  proper 
presentation  or  printing  of  which  he 
never  took  any  interest  whatever  ?  No 
such  author  ever  existed  ;  no  such  man 
ever  existed.  Bacon  was  a  man  who 
sought  power  and  influence  in  every- 
thing he  did ;  and  even  if  he  had  had 
the  ability  to  write  the  plays,  it  is  child- 
ish to  suppose  he  would  not  have  made 
the  most  of  them.  Not  only  the  king 
and  queen,  the  courtiers  and  the  fore- 
most men  of  the  time,  but  all  the  nobil- 
ity of  England,  would  have  been  at  his 
feet ;  and  he  would  never  have  been 
obliged,  in  order  to  live  respectably, 
to  sue  for  assistance  at  court,  or  to 
marry  the  daughter  of  a  London  alder- 
man. 

Still  more :  there  are  Bacon's  letters ; 
letters  addressed  to  various  persons  and 
on  all  manner  of  subjects;  letters  of 
friendship  and  letters  of  business  ;  letters 
on  state  affairs  and  letters  on  domestic 
affairs  ;  letters  on  literature  and  letters 
on  philosophy.  Surely,  if  he  had  written 
the  plays,  some  mention  of  them  would 


FOR  TRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF.  333 

have  been  made  in  some  of  these  letters ; 
surely  either  he  or  his  correspondents 
would  have  had  something  to  say  about 
them.  But  no ;  not  a  word  on  the  sub- 
ject is  to  be  found.  He  could  not  have 
been  such  a  £od  as  to  have  written  the 
plays  without  knowing  it  himself ;  hardly 
a  divinity  could  do  that  ;  yet  I  have 
no  doubt  some  of  the  Baconians  are 
capable  of  believing  something  of  this 
sort ,  for  this  is  about  as  reasonable  as 
the  rest  of  their  logic.  Like  Columbus 
he  discovered  a  new  continent,  and 
added  a  new  world  to  literature,  without 
knowing  it ! 

There  is  his  intimate  friend  Hobbes,  a 
voluminous  writer,  who  knew  him  well, 
and  who  has  a  good  deal  to  say  of  Bacon  : 
indeed,  he  might  have  known  equally 
well  Shakespeare  himself, — for  his  life 
covered  nearly  a  whole  century,  1 588— 
1679  ; — yet  he  has  never  a  word  to  say  of 
Bacon  having  written  a  play,  or  of  his 
having  had  any  connection  with  the  stage. 
Hobbes  was  his  secretary,  I  believe,  for 
a  time  ;  he  wrote,  examined,  and  studied 


334 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


for  him ;  so  if  any  man  ought  to  know 
something  of  his  master's  writings,  he 
ought ;  and  if  any  man  would  have ' 
mentioned  the  fact,  had  his  master 
devoted  himself  to  play-writing,  he 
would  have  done  so. 

Bacon  lived,  in  fact,  in  the  white  heat 
and  bright  light  of  public  life  ;  he  kept 
a  great  house,  and  had  many  servants, 
secretaries,  dependants,  and  friends  ;  his 
acts  were  universally  known  and  criti- 
cised ;  and  to  imagine  that  such  a  man, 
under  such  circumstances,  should  have 
written  the  finest  dramas  ever  composed, 
thirty-seven  in  number, — dramas  that 
were  acted  during  twenty  odd  years, 
before  the  dlite  of  the  world, — without 
anybody  knowing  or  suspecting,  not 
even  himself,  that  he  was  the  author  of 
them,  is  simply  to  the  last  degree  pre- 
posterous and  absurd. 

One  word  more,  and  I  have  done. 
Does  the  reader  remember  how  Lord 
Bacon  came  to  his  death  ?  He  was  rid- 
ing along  in  his  coach  one  stormy  winter 
day,   when,   seeing   the   ground  covered 


FOR  TEA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF. 


335 


with  snow,  he  began  to  wonder  whether 
snow  would  not  preserve  flesh  from  de- 
cay ;  and  stepping  out  of  his  coach  into 
a  poultry-shop,  he  bought  a  fowl,  and 
with  his  own  hands  stuffed  it  with  snow. 
This  operation  brought  on  a  chill  ;  and 
feeling  ill,  he  was  compelled  to  stop  at 
the  house  of  a  friend,  Lord  Arundel's, 
where,  being  put  into  an  unaired  bed,  he 
contracted  a  fever,  of  which  he  died. 
Now  let  any  man,  tolerably  familiar  with 
Shakespeare's  dramas,  imagine  for  a  mo- 
ment whether  the  author  of  Hamlet  and 
Lear  was  likely,  on  observing  the  ground 
covered  with  snow, — 

beautiful  snow, 
Filling  the  sky  and  the  earth  below, 
Over  the  house-tops,  over  the  street, 
Over  the  heads  of  the  people  you  meet, 
Flying  to  kiss  a  fair  lady's  cheek ; 
Clinging  to  lips  in  a  frolicsome  freak ! 
Beautiful  snow!  from  the  heavens  above, 
Pure  as  an  angel  and  fickle  as  love  ! 

let  him  imagine,  I  say,  for  a  moment, 
whether  the  author  of  these  plays  would 
at  such    a   sight,   engage  in    speculating 


336 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


as  to  whether  snow  would  preserve 
dead  chickens  from  decay,  and  actu- 
ally stop  and  stuff  one  with  his  own 
hands  to  see  if  it  would  remain  un- 
tainted !  Would  not  the  mind  of  Shake- 
speare have  been  engaged  in  reflections 
of  quite  a  different  nature  ?  The  action 
of  Lord  Bacon  was  quite  in  keeping 
with  his  character  as  ~a  practical  utili- 
tarian philosopher ;  but  it  was  entirely 
out  of  keeping  with  the  nature  of  the 
speculative,  dreamy,  castle-building  char- 
acter-studying Poet.  Shakespeare,  it  is 
true,  hit  upon  great  physical  truths  by 
poetic  inspiration  ;  but  he  hardly  went 
to  work  to  find  them  out  by  actual 
experiment.  He  was  more  interested, 
naturally,  in  human  character,  in  human 
aims  and  hopes,  in  beauty  of  expression, 
in  the  power  of  thought  and  example, 
than  in  the  discovery  of  useful  truths 
in  natural  science. 

These  considerations  may  not,  it  is 
true,  influence  the  views  of  any  man 
who  is  bound  to  be  singular  in  such  mat- 
ters ;   but  to   one  who  is  accustomed  to 


PORTRA  YED  B  Y  HIMSELF. 


337 


rational  thinking  and  reasonable  con- 
clusions, they  must  form  a  chain  of  evi- 
dence, strong  as  links  of  iron,  in  proof 
of  the  fact  that  the  author  of  Shake- 
speare's plays  and  that  of  Bacon's  phil- 
osophical works  are  not,  and  can  not  be, 
one  and  the  same  person,  We  may, 
therefore  dismiss  the  subject  with  the 
assurance,  that  notwithstanding  the  wide- 
spread plot  to  destroy  Shakespeare's 
reputation  and  to  erase  his  name  from 
literature,  he  "still  lives,"  and  will  con- 
tinue to  live,  as  long  as  the  language 
lives  in  which  his  immortal  works  are 
written.  Like  the  Prince  in  whom  he 
portrayed  his  own  character, 

he  still  survives, 
To  mock  the  expectation  of  the  world, 
To  frustrate  prophecies,  and  to  raze  out 
Rotten  opinion,  who  hath  writ  him  down 
After  his  seeming. 

22 


INDEX. 


Age  of  Elizabeth,  its  mental 

activity,  32. 
Arnold,  Matthew,  his  descrip- 
tion of  Shelley's  charac- 
ter, 148. 
Bacon,    Delia,    her    book    on 
Shakespeare,  137. 
her  fate,  138  [note). 
Bacon,  Lord,   his  ability,   20; 
117,    118. 
his  birthplace,   267. 
his  travels,  267. 
wrote  the  works  of  Marlowe, 
Montaigne,    and    Burton, 

274; 
his  great  ability,  303,  304. 
could    not   create    Falstaff, 

306. 
described  by  Mr.  Spedding, 

3°9- 
compared  with  Shakespeare, 

3*4- 

his  Apology,  322. 

his  latter  years,  322,  323. 

his    own   works    free    from 

printers'  errors,  323. 
his  last  will  and  testament, 

329- 
his   great    and    active    life, 

330. 
sought  power  and  influence, 

332- 
his  letters,  332. 

lived  in  the  white  light  of 

public  life,  334. 

how  he  came  by  his  death, 

334- 


Baconians,  their  attempt  to 
rob  the  Poet  of  his  fame, 

how     they     go     to     work, 

262. 
may  prove  anything  by  their 
methods,  263. 
Bagehot,     Walter,     what     he 
says   of   mental   training, 

31- 
his   comparison     of    Shake- 
speare, Scott,  and  Goethe, 

Baynes,  Spencer  T.,  his  ac- 
count of  the  Poet's  mother, 

IS7- 

his    account   of   the    Poet's 

early  career,  210. 
what      he      found      in     the 
Stratford      records,      306 
[note]. 

Beaumont,  Francis,  his  de- 
scription of  the  Mermaid 
meetings,  126. 

Berkeley,  Bishop,  what  he 
proved,  32S. 

Bible,  the  French  and  the  Bis- 
hops', known  by  Shake- 
speare, 200. 

Black,  Mr.,  his  opinion  of 
Shakespeare,  238. 

Bluemantle,  Mr.  Charles 
Athill,  what  he  savs  of 
Shakespeare's  grant  of 
arms,  300. 

Brown,  Charles  Armitage,  his 
view  of  the  Sonnets,  113. 


339 


34o 


INDEX. 


Brown,  Charles  Armitage,  his 
proofs  that  Shakespeare 
had  been  in  Italy,  216. 
expresses  regret  that  the 
Poet  had  not  more  ene- 
mies, 236. 

Buckle,    Henry   Thomas,   his 
life  and  the  author's   ad- 
miration of  him,  6. 
what    he    shows    with    re- 
gard to  Charles  III.,  274. 

Bunyan,  John,  what  he  was, 
21. 

Burke  and  Fox,  26. 

Burns,  Robert,  how  his  early 
life  was  spent,  21,  22. 
his  college  at  Dunfermline, 

u-3L 

his  conversation,  125. 

Butler,  Benjamin,  believes  in 
Mr.  Donnelly's  "  discov- 
eries," 268. 

Byron,  Lord,  eccentric  as  the 
Prince,  47. 
what  he  said  of  Berkeley's 
proposition,  328. 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  his  reference 
to  Shakespeare's  love  of 
laughter,  64. 

Catholic  doctrines,  the  Poet's 
leaning  toward,  258. 

Cipher,  the,  its  fallacy,  295. 

Classics,  the  study  of,  not 
always  the  best,  31. 

Clannishness  among  English- 
men in  London,  189. 

Channing,  Dr.,  what  he  says 
of  genius,  205. 

Character  of  poets,  146. 

Chettle,    Henry,  his  reference 
to  Shakespeare,  234. 
bewitched    with    the    Poet, 

237- 
Cobbett,   William,  contrasted 
with  Matthews  and  Hook, 

3°9- 
Cobham,  Lord,  93. 


College   training,  worse  than 

useless  to  some  men,  30. 
Contemporaries,  S'kespeare's, 

225-243. 
Congreve,  the  dramatist,  what 
he  thought  of  authorship, 
301. 
Conversation,    some    men    of 
genius  greater  in,  than  in 
their  works,  124,  125. 
Crow,  upstart,  229. 
Cryptogram,  the  great,  278. 
Curran,  John  Philpot,  his  ex- 
perience at  the  debating 
club,  31. 
Dauphin  the,  his    present   to 

the  Prince,  108. 
Davidson,  Professor  Thomas, 
his  visit  to  Mr.  Donnelly 
and  account  of  "  The 
Great  Cryptogram,"  265. 
can   make   nothing   of  The 

Cipher,  271. 
his   final    condemnation   of 
it,  298. 
Deer-stealing    adventure,    73, 
84-90. 
Halliwell's    description    of, 
84. 
Derby,  Lord,  214. 
Donnelly,  Ignatius,   discovers 
a  cipher,  4. 
what    he    says    of    Shake- 
speare  not   claiming    the 
plays,  132. 
his    opprobrious    treatment 

of  the  Poet,  224. 
claims  that  the  Poet  never 

saw  the  sea,  224. 
his    "Great    Cryptogram," 

262. 
Professor     Davidson's    ac- 
count of  it,  265. 
his    ridiculous    conclusions 

266,  267. 
discovers  the  vastness  of  his 
cipher,  272. 


INDEX. 


341 


Donnelly,   Ignatius,  his  char- 
acter, 275. 
his  great  work,  270-297. 

Dramatic  authors,  331. 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo,  what 
he   said   of     a   collegiate 
education,  30. 
preferred  translations,  207. 

Experience    in   Germany,  the 
writer's,  115. 

Experience,  no  field  like  it  for 
poets  and  novelists,  202. 

Experimental    knowledge,   its 
value,  in. 

Factotum,  the  Poet  so-called 
by  Greene,  226. 

Falstaff,    the  spell   by   which 
he  holds  the  Prince,  64. 
how  he  talks  after  the  rub- 
bery, 74-84. 
asks,  "  Am  I  a  wood-man  ? " 

85- 
his    origin    and    character, 

92-94. 
compared  with  the   Prince, 
from  Fuller's  words,  128. 
a  whole  century  of  wit,  sense, 
and  humor  m  him,  204. 
Fat  soils  and  weeds,  112. 
Fletcher,     Laurence,     a     col- 
league of    Shakespeare's, 
269. 
probably  a  townsman  of  his, 
270. 
Florio,  John,  the  instructor  of 

Shakespeare,  21 1. 
Folio  of    1623,  the  number  of 
copies  printed,  etc.,  133. 
what  it  contained,  134,   135, 

note, 
crammed  with  errors,  323. 
Foul    play,    Shakespeare   res- 
cued from  suspicion  of,  5. 
Fox,  Charles  James,    how   he 

got  his  education,  25. 
Francis,   Sir    Philip,  what   he 
*       said  of  Fox,  25. 


Francis,  the  pot-boy,  scene  be- 
tween him  and  the  Prince, 

51- 
how   Mr.  Donnelly  regards 

him,  66. 
French   and    German    books, 

207. 
Fuller,  his  account  of  Shake- 

peare's   talk,  127. 
Fulman,    Rev.    Wm.,  his   ref- 
erence    to     Shakespeare, 
86. 
Gadshill  exploit,  a  version   of 
the     Poet's     deer-stealing 
adventure,  92. 
Genius,  a  man  of,  will  study, 
19. 
the  workings  of,  21. 
what    some    men    of,    have 

done,  21,  22. 
what    supplies   the    Prome- 
thean spark  of,  23. 
definition  of,  23. 
the    achievements    of,    not 

from  books,  29,  30. 
how   it   works  its   wonders, 

47,  48. 
what  the  man  of,  is,  122. 
the    conversation    of,    122, 

123. 
thinks    more    of    some    in- 
ferior quality  than  of  that 
which  distinguishes   him, 
302. 

German  professor,  his  exploit, 
271. 

Goethe,  compared  with  Scott 
and  Shakespeare,  58,  59, 
61. 
what   he  says  of  a  fictitious 
character,  206. 

Goldsmith,  Oliver,  his  senti- 
ments those  of  Shake- 
speare, 242,  243. 

Gosso.i,  Stephen,  his  descrip- 
tion of  the  stage  in  Shake- 
peare's  time,  181. 


342 


INDEX. 


Grant  of  arms,  Shakespeare's, 

300. 
Greek  and  Latin  training,  27. 

worshippers  of,  29. 
Greene,  the  dramatist,  50. 
his     sneering     allusion     to 
Shakespeare,  225-230. 
Greatness     in     Shakespeare's 
time  and  in  our  time,  131. 
Gutenberg,  the   value    of    his 

invention,  134. 
Hale,  Edward    Everett,    what 
he   said   of    the    men    of 
Elizabeth's  time,  33. 
Halliwell,  his  account  of  deer- 
stealing  adventure,  84. 
his     discovery     concerning 
Shakespeare's    character- 
names,  90. 
his   account   of    the    Poet's 
character,  178. 
Hamlet,  Monsieur  Taine's  view 
of,  112. 
Nash's  play  upon  the  name, 

231. 
the  author  of,  well  acquaint- 
ed with  law,  232. 
the   earlier   Hamlet  of  Mr. 
Phillipps,  237. 
Hathaway,    Anne,   her    union 
with    the   Poet    a    happy 
one,  239. 
Hazlitt,    what    he   said   of  a 

classical  training,  30. 
Heming    and    Condell,    their 
dedication,  312. 
statues   will   be   erected  to 
them,  35. 
Henry,  Patrick,  how  he  spent 
his  time,  24. 
his  power  and  influence,  25. 
Henry,  Prince,    his   character 
that  of  the  Poet,  7. 
compared  with  the  Poet,  8,  9. 
his  history,  10,  n. 
the    Poet's    sympathy  with 
him,  12. 


Henry,    Prince,    the    popular 
idea  of  his  character,  14. 
figures  in  four  plays,  35. 
how   he  appears    in    open- 
ing scenes  of  Henry  IV., 

37- 
his  knowledge  and  ability, 

45,  46. 
his  character,  46. 
his  accomplishments,  48. 
his   aversion   to    evil-doing, 

48,  49. 
compared  with  the  Poet,  49, 

scene  between  him  and 
Francis   the   pot-boy    51- 

57- 
how    he  loves   the    people, 

63-  .         , 

how     he     mingled     among 

them,  66. 

not  so  bad  as  his  compan- 
ions, 70. 

resemblance   to  Hamlet,  71, 

72-     . 
predictions  concerning  him, 

95-  ,       ,  . 

acts  for  once  unlike  him- 
self, 101. 

where  his  character  comes 
out  most  strongly,  139. 

loves  peace  and  hates  blood- 
shed, 140. 

how  he  resembles  a  poet  in 
his  humors,  146. 

has  a  merciful    disposition, 

his  interviews  with  his  fa- 
ther, 154. 

his  conduct  toward  the  Chief 
Justice.  160,  etc. 

compared  with  his  brother 
John,  167,  170. 

his  gentle  and  merciful 
character,  170-176. 

how  he  resembled  the  Poet, 
248. 


INDEX. 


343 


Henry  Prince,  why  the  Poet 
could  stand  for  him,  249- 
252. 
his  conduct  before  the 
battle  of  Agincourt,  250, 
251. 
his    hearty   sympathy   with 

his  army,  254. 
his     last     quoted     speech, 

255. 
some  other  points  in  which 
he    may    stand    for     the 
Poet,  257. 
his    love    of    punning,    his 

religious  belief,  257-259. 
his  sympathy  with    the  peo- 
ple, 261. 

Henry  IV.,  its  great  popularity 
and  its  superiority,  203. 
the    Poet,  the    sole    author 

of,  244. 
where  its  names  come  from, 

246. 
shortened    in    the    quartos, 
247. 

Henry  V.,  see  Henry,  Prince. 

Henry  V.,  the  old  play  so- 
called,  what  Mr.  Hudson 
says  of  it,  244. 

Henslowe,  what  his  diary 
shows,  181. 

Hobbes,  his  knowledge  of 
Bacon,  333. 

Hogg,  the  Scottish  poet,  313. 

Holinshed,  the  Poet's  great 
authority,  10. 

Holmes,  Judge,  his  work  on 
Shakespeare,  263,  264. 

Hotspur,  the  Prince's  mag- 
nanimity toward,  71. 

Hugo,  Victor,  what  he  says  of 
Shakespeare's  conflagra- 
tion, 132. 

Human  nature,  the  same  in 
prince  and  peasant,  u. 

Interviewers,  reporters,  none 
in  the  Poet's  time,  130. 


Irving,       Washington,        his 
opinion  of  Shakespeare's 
youth,  95. 
John,  Prince,  contrasted  with 

his  brother,  167,  16S. 
Johnson,    Dr.,    his    conversa- 
tion, 125. 
his  sarcasm,  267. 
Jonson,  Ben,  129. 

his  testimony  as  to  Shake- 
speare's   knowledge    and 
studiousness,  200. 
his  way  of  writing  plays,  206. 
the  friend  of  Bacon,  316. 
his  eulogy  of  Shakespeare, 

3r7>  31*5- 
how   well  he   knew   Shake- 
speare, 320. 

Junius,  describing  Fox,  27. 

Knight,  Mr.,  his  opinion  of  the 
Prince,  139. 

Letter-writing,  familiar,  little 
practiced  in  the  Poet's 
time,  130. 

Life  and  character  of  a  liter- 
ary man,  where  to  look 
for  these,  4. 

Lincoln,  Abraham,  how 
trained,  22. 

Lucv,  Sir  Thomas,  satire  on, 
87,  SS. 

Macaulay,  T.  B.,  [29. 

Maginn,    Dr.,    tells    why    we 
know  so  little  of  Shake- 
speare, 191. 
what  he  says  of  the  Poet's 

learning,  207,  208. 
his  criticism  of  C.  T.  Brown's 
suggestion  concerning  the 
travels  of  the  Poet,  221. 

Marlowe,  Christopher,  50. 

Martineau,  Harriet,  confirms 
the  opinion  of  C.  T. 
Brown,  221. 

Massinger,  his  life,  122. 

Measure  for  Measure,  when 
played,  118. 


344 


INDEX. 


Moliere,  his  education,  28. 
where    he   learned  the   lan- 
guage of  the  nobility,  312. 

Montaigne's  Essays,  read  by 
Shakespeare,  212. 

Montgomery,  Earl  of,  198. 

Morgan,  Appleton,  his  decla- 
ration    touching     Shake- 
speare, 261. 
his  books  on  Shakespeare, 
261. 

Morgan,  Lady,  what  she  says 
of  Shakespeare's  knowl- 
edge, 220. 

Names  of  dramatic  characters, 
the  Poet  takes  his  from 
those  of  his  neighbors, 
249. 

Nash,   Thomas,    a    friend    of 
Greene's,  230. 
his     reference     to     Shake- 
speare, 231. 

Novelists,  how  they  have  por- 
trayed themselves,  201, 
202. 

Noverint,  the  Poet  so-called 
by  Nash,  231. 

Oldcastle,  Sir  John,  93. 

his    character    in    the    old 
play,  245. 

Osborne,  Ralph  Bernal,  what 
he  learned  at  college,  30. 

Otway,  his  life,  122. 

Parallelisms,  325-328. 

Pembroke,  Earl  of,  198. 

Peele,  Geo.,  dramatist,  50. 

Phillipps,     Halliwell,     shows 
how  Shakespeare  portray- 
ed real  characters,  96. 
his   account   of  the   events 

of  the  Poet's  life,  122. 
what    he    says    of   Willis's 

stage-play,  187. 
what  he  says  of  "  the  pro- 
vincial tie,"  189. 
his    account    of   the   Poet's 
relations  to  his  family,  240. 


Phillipps  Halliwell,  his  ac- 
count of  actors  and  the 
stage   in  the  Poet's  time, 

275- 

Pisa,  what  kind  of  a  place  it 
is,  217. 

Players,  the,  of  the  Poet's 
time,  184. 

Prince  Henry,  see  Henry, 
Prince. 

Reporters,  diarists,  inter- 
viewers, none  in  the  Poet's 
time,  130. 

Robbery,  scene   after  the,  73. 

Rowe,  his  account  of  the 
deer-stealing  adventure, 
87. 

Scott,  Walter,  compared  with 
Shakespeare  in   his  love 
of  the  people,  58-62. 
his  striking  saying,  60. 
his  low  esteem  of  fame,  301. 

Scottish  scenery,  the  Poet's 
description  of,  269. 

Self-educated  men,  19,  20,  21, 
22. 
their  college,  31. 
graduates     of     a     printing- 
office,  31. 
their      power,     whence     it 
comes,  33. 

Shallow,  Justice,  his  appear- 
ance in  one  scene,  97- 
101. 

Shakespeare,  Anne,  her  mem- 
ory      revered       by      her 
children,  237,  238. 
lived      happily      with     the 
Poet,  239,  240. 

Shakespeare,  John,  the  Poet's 
father,  how  he  figures  in 
the  Stratfordian  records, 
90. 
a  politician,  and  a  man  of 
no  mean  character,  154. 
his  rule  over  Stratford, 
155- 


INDEX. 


345 


Shakespeare,  John,  a  man  of 
superior  character,  156. 

mentioned      in       Stratford 
records    for    not    attend- 
ing church,  306. 
Shakespeare,  Judith,  a   novel 

by  Mr.  Black,  238. 
Shakespeare,  Mary,  the  poet's 
mother,   her  influence  on 
her  son,  157 . 

lives  till  1608,  243. 
Shakespeare,      Wm.,      books 
printed    concerning    him, 
1. 

all  the   world  interested   in 
him,  1. 

his    intellectual    power,    2. 

the       father      of      German 
literature,  2. 

his  birthplace  a  Mecca,  3. 

the  glory    of   the    English- 
speaking  race,  3. 

the  author's  presentation  of 
his    life,   its   satisfaction, 

5- 
rescued    from    a    suspicion 

of  foul  play,  5. 
his  character   delineated  in 

that  of   Prince   Henry,   7, 

8,  9,  etc. 
his  history   compared    with 

that  of  the  Prince,  8. 
his  early  career,  8,  9. 
his    large     sympathy     with 

the  Prince,  12,  13. 
the    popular     idea     of    his 

character,  14. 
direct      comparison       from 

the  play,  16,  17,  18. 
how    he       came      by     his 

knowledge,  18,  19. 
his    education    better    than 

a  classic  one,  27. 
his     early     life     compared 

with  that  of  Moliere,  29. 
the     world    alive   with   dis- 
cussion in  his  time,  32. 


Shakespeare,  Wm.,  learned 
more  from  conversation 
than  from  books,  33. 

his  wit-combats  with  Ben 
Jonson,  44. 

like  the  Prince  a  lover  of 
good  conversation,  45. 

compared  with  the   Prince, 

48?  49»  S°- 

his  patience  with  dul- 
ness,  52,  53. 

the  pranks  he  played  with 
brother  actors,  57. 

his  love  of  the  people,  58. 

compared  with  Goethe 
and  Scott  in  this  re- 
spect, 58-62. 

his  delineation  of  this 
trait  in  the  Prince,  63. 

his  fondness  for  wit  and 
laughter,  64. 

resemblance  to  the  Prince 
in  this  respect,  65,  66. 

a  man  of  the  people,  67. 

his  use  of  his  own  ad- 
ventures in  his  plays, 
87. 

drew  the  likenesses  and 
adopted  the  names  of 
his  neighbors,  90. 

where  he  got  the  Gadshill 
exploit,  93. 

had  a  living  representa- 
tive for  nearly  every  one 
of  his  characters,  94. 

example  from  Taming  of 
The  Skretv,  96. 

"  turning  past  evils  to 
advantages,"  103. 

how  he  drew  from  his  own 
experience  in  delineat- 
ing the  Prince,  107. 

how  he  acquired  his 
knowledge,      107 ;       also, 

47,  48. 
compared      with       Caesar, 
Antony,  etc.,  112. 


34-6 


INDEX. 


Shakespeare,  Wm.,  his  life  in 

the  Sonnets,  112. 
his   associations     with     the 

nobility,   115. 
his  early  experiences  as  an 

actor,  116. 
the  events   of  his  life,  121- 

ins  conversation,  125- 

his    indifference     to     fame, 

132. 
his  claim    to      his      plays, 

132  [note], 
nearly    meets    the    fate   of 

^Eschylus,  132. 
how  regarded   by  the  great 

critics,  136. 
loves      peace      and      hates 

bloodshed,  139,  140. 
his  modesty,  143. 
compared   with   the    Prince 

in  this  respect,  144. 
compared       with       soldier 

poets   and     philosophers, 

149. 
helped  his  father,  155. 
had     his     own     father      in 

mind    when    writing     the 

scenes       between         the 

Prince    and     his     father, 

158. 
what     his      contemporaries 

said  of  him,  176. 
character      described        by 

Hudson,  177. 
knew  some    of   the    players 

before   he  left   Stratford, 

185. 
welcomed    by     the     actors 

at  their     London     home, 

188. 
his     progress    in     London, 

190. 
why  we   know  so   little    of 

him,  191. 
his     career     natural,      191, 

192. 


Shakespeare,  Wm.,  how  rapid- 
ly he  wrote,  192. 

his  career  in  London,  194- 
198. 

how  hard  he  studied,  199, 
200. 

how  he  portrayed  himself, 
201. 

did  not  invent  plots,  nor 
men  and  women,  205. 

character-painting  his  forte, 
205. 

how  he  wrote  his  plays, 
206. 

his  training,  209. 

what  he  studied  Greek 
for,  209. 

Baynes'  account  of  his 
early  career,  210. 

how  he  learned  French 
and  Italian,  21. 

proofs  that  he  had  seen 
Italy,  216. 

what  other  countries  he  may 
have  seen,  222. 

his  exact  knowledge  of  the 
Continent,  223. 

which  came  from  actual 
observation,  223,  224. 

the  opprobrious  epithets  ap- 
plied to  him  by  Mr.  Don- 
nelly, 224. 

references  to  him  by  his 
contemporaries,  225. 

had     surely     studied      law, 

malicious  charge  against 
him,  233-235. 

his  home-life,  238. 

what  Mr.  Phillipps  says  of 
this,  240. 

his  heart  always  in  Strat- 
ford, 240-243. 

how  the  Poet  came  to 
represent  himself  in  the 
Prince,  248. 


INDEX. 


347 


Shakespeare,  Wm.,  no  man 
ever  realized  so  fully  the 
troubles,  cares,  anxieties 
and  sorrows  of  a  king,  253. 

compared  with  the  Prince 
in  his  love  of  punning,  257. 

in  his  sharp  observations 
of  men,  258. 

in  his  religious  belief,  258 ; 

his  dislike  of  the  Puritans, 
259,  260. 

was  probably  a  Papist,  258 

his  sympathy  with  the  peo- 
ple, 261  [note]. 

his  descriptions  of  the  sea 
and  of  Scottish  scenery 
266,  269. 

singular  fate,  with  regard  to 
his  plays,  273. 

loss  of  his  library,  274. 

his  chief  works  lost  but  for 
Heming  and  Condell,  275. 

his  regard  for  wealth  and 
rank,  301,  302. 

may  have  painted  his  fa- 
ther and  mother,  306. 

what  he  studied,  308. 

where  he  found  his  char- 
acters, 311. 

Shamefully  treated  by  Ba- 
conians, 328. 

read  the  works  of  Bacon,  327. 

final    comparison    of,    with 
Bacon,  335-337- 
Shelley,    the   poet,    described 

by  Matthew  Arnold,  148. 
Shrezv,  Taming  of  The,  217 '. 
Siddons,  Mrs.,  what  she  said 
of  Shakespeare's  women, 

3M- 

Sly,  Christopher,  a  real  char- 
acter, 196. 

"  Small  Latin  and  less  Greek," 
208. 

Smalley,  G.  W.,  what  he  says 
of  "  The  Great  Crypto- 
gram," 298. 


Solomon,  how  he  obtained  his 
knowledge  no. 

Southampton,  earl  of,  the 
friend  of  the  Poet,  191, 
198,  213. 
captain  of  a  vessel  in  the  ex- 
pedition against  Spain  and 
commander  of  a  squadron 
under  Essex,  226. 

Spedding,    Mr.,    his   reply   to 
Judge  Holmes,  309,  321. 
what  he  says  of  the  paral- 
lelisms, 327. 
compares  Bacon  and  Shake- 
speare, 331. 

Stage,  the,  in  the  poet's  time, 
117  [note]. 

Strange,  Lord,  the  patron  of 
players,  215. 

Stratford-on-Avon,  loved  by 
the  Poet,  241,  242,  243. 

Swift,  Dean,  his  ambition,  302. 

Taine,  M.,  finds  the  Poet's  life 
in  the  Sonnets,  112. 

Tawny  ground,  French  soil, 
223. 

Teaching  without  book,  its 
superiority,  32. 

Theater,  the,  in  Shakespeare's 
time,  180-1S2. 

Translations,  preferable,  207. 

Truth,  how  discovered,  6. 

"  Turning  past  evils  to  advan- 
tages," 103. 

Tylney,  master  of  revels,  his 
mention  of  "  Mr.  Shax- 
berd,"  119. 

Willis,  his  account  of  a  stage- 
play,  186. 

Venus  and  Adonis,  by  whom 
printed,  189. 
dedicated  to   Southampton, 
213. 

Visor,  satire  on,  97. 

Voltaire,  what  he  said  of  his 
college    life,  30. 
what  he  says  of  money-mak- 
ing. I23- 


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